Star Wars: Shades of Gray
by JonWilhoit
Summary: An Imperial TIE fighter pilot embarks upon his first tour of duty, but he quickly finds that life in the Imperial Navy isn't as he first believed.
1. Chapter 1

**Star Wars: Shades of Gray**

**Preface**: As children we live in a black and white world. We know the difference between what is good and what is evil. We are secure in this assumption, never questioning and always trusting. As we grow older, however, we begin to see that nothing is as it appeared in our naïve infancy. Black and white begin to merge into ever-increasing shades of gray.

_" . . . you're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."_

Obi-Wan Kenobi, _Return of the Jedi_

**Part I: Land of the Blind**

**Chapter One**

Flight Officer Tilyer Raan took a deep breath to settle the mynocks fluttering around in his stomach. He slowly surveyed his surroundings in awe of its grandeur. The floor spread out before him like a glossy sea of ebony, reflecting the light of the many glow panels that lined the ceiling. The Golan Defense Platform's landing bay was at least thirty meters tall, though only half of that space was dedicated to the various forms of Imperial landing craft settled on the deck.

Tilyer craned his neck upward as the sound of whirring machinery and charging energy coils filled the cavernous room. One of the hexagonal-winged craft above him shifted forward in its rack toward a trio of figures waiting on the catwalk ahead. The central figure of the three stepped forward to meet the approaching ship. He wore a bulky black flight suit, his face concealed by the equally cumbersome black helmet. Even from this distance, Tilyer recognized the man for what he was: a TIE fighter pilot. The technicians on either side of him helped him into his craft before sealing the hatch. Again the rack shifted forward, this time catapulting the star fighter through the bay's magnetic field and into space.

Tilyer's eyes followed the TIE out of the hanger as it began a slow ascent up toward the shining silvery crescent of Imperial Center visible beyond the containment field. Upon the sight of his home world, his mind wandered backward in time to when the Imperial Academy first accepted him. With the Rebellion's cowardly assault on the Empire's new battle station, a strong anti-Rebellion sentiment swept through Imperial space. How dare they? Hundreds of thousands of men and women had perished in that savage blow to Imperial supremacy, and among the dead lay his own brother.

Mikal Raan had joined the service as a medic, hopeful that such a position would keep him well-away from the battles that raged across the galaxy and yet allow him to somehow make a difference to those who needed it. He had been working with the Imperial medical corps on the Empire's new space station when the Rebels struck.

At the thought of his brother's unjust demise, a deep-seated rage begin to seethe throughout Tilyer's entire being, anger that the Rebellion's terrorism had expanded to his own family, anger that they had carelessly snuffed out the lives of so many productive, innocent citizens. His hands unconsciously clenched upon recalling the memory, and he could feel the artery in his neck pulsing harder and faster.

"You alright, there buddy?" a deep, resonant voice asked from somewhere behind him.

Tilyer turned to see a rather large man dressed in standard imperial gray cover-alls. The insignia upon his collar identified him as crewman, second class. Tilyer forced himself to relax, nodding to the other man, "yes, I'll be fine . . . "

"Little tense, huh?" he asked as he approached Tilyer, oblivious to the obvious rank difference. "Hey, I'm Gabel—Gabel Thahlwin."

"Tilyer Raan," he replied a bit coldly, turning back toward the glittering expanse of stars as a hint that he wished to be left alone.

Gabel didn't seem to get the hint. "You waiting for transport, too? Lemme guess, the _Enforcer_?"

Tilyer frowned, turning back to Thahlwin, "Yes . . . how did you know?"

Gabel shrugged, setting down his duffle bag, "Just a guess, really. That's the one I'm bound for too." He squinted at the insignia on Tilyer's collar, "You a pilot or something?"

"Correct," Tilyer said coolly, still a bit miffed at Thahlwin's over-familiar demeanor. The crewman still didn't seem to catch on, and pressed forward.

"Really? That's great . . . bridge pilot, or fighter?"

Tilyer sighed, giving up hope of shooing away the larger man, and gave in to his invasive questions, "Fighter."

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I heard that the _Enforcer_ had been refitted with a small fighter bay. How many craft can it hold?"

"It's big enough for two standard TIE fighters. The _Enforcer_ is only a Corvette, you know."

"Yeah? Well you know, I actually started my training as a pilot," Gabel said trying to sound nonchalant. "Most people think it woulda been my size that kept me out of it, but hu-uh. I was just under the limit. I did fine in the sims—great even, but when I got behind the stick in real life . . . well, the doctor called it spatial inertia displacement, or SID. Without a substantial gravity well, I lose my orientation and can't navigate."

Tilyer opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as alarm klaxons blared within the landing bay. Blue lights atop the open bay doors flashed as a mechanical voice announced, "In-coming landing craft. All personnel, clear landing pad 2B."

"Is that ours?" Tilyer asked.

He had expected Gabel to reply, but a sheepish voice spoke from behind him. "Yes, _Lambda_-class shuttle _Corsuca_—that's the one." The speaker was a rather short, black haired woman dressed in the drab olive uniform of an imperial naval officer. Her glossy black hair was tied up in a regulation bun, and her face possessed an aquiline nose that would have made her seem pretty had she not been so timid. The insignia on her shoulder read Ensign, but her quiet demeanor didn't seem to fit that officer's rank. Still, the fact that she was a woman spoke volumes about her skill as an officer. For a woman to be accepted into the service, she had to be an exceptional soldier.

Tilyer was about to say something when he heard a wash of cascading energy. He turned to see the shuttle's form rippling as it passed through the magnetic containment field. Its lower wings began to fold up into their signature delta form as landing thrusters flared to maneuver the ship into place. Its landing gear settled to the floor with a dull reverberating thud, and the boarding ramp began to grind downward.

"Orders didn't say the name or design of the ship," Tilyer said as if trying to defend against some unspoken slight.

The young woman moved past him and toward the _Corsuca_. "I just checked the station's travel manifests, that's all."

Gabel just shrugged and shouldered his duffle bag to follow her.

Tilyer grumbled and strode after them.

* * *

Tilyer stared out the port side window as the myriad of stars beyond slowly spun with the shuttle's lazy turn. He could hear Gabel chatting with that woman in the background.

"So you're a communications officer, huh Linia? That _is_ you name, isn't it? Linia Taulin?"

Raan sighed, trying to tune out the arbitrary conversation as he set to staring out the window once again. This time, however, something else caught his eye. The vessel would have seemed extremely strange had Tilyer not been studying this particular configuration for quite some time: the Corellian Corvette. Approximately one fourth of the vessel was devoted to its eleven engines. It had an oddly shaped fuselage, if that could be applied to a capital war ship, and a forward-placed bridge that lent the craft the look of a deformed hammer. He could even see a pair of turbo laser batteries located along the vessel's midsection tracking the _Corsuca's_ approach.

The pilot's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, "All passengers, prepare to dock. You may debark through the aft floor hatch once the landing procedure is completed."

His words were punctuated by a loud grating sound as the shuttle settled down over the corvette's docking collar. Another deep thump resonated throughout the compartment. Then a green light appeared over the door to the cockpit. Flight Officer Taulin was the first to rise from her seat followed quickly by Gabel. As he grabbed his duffle bag, Tilyer could hear the magnetic seal on the hatch dissipate before the lock slid open.

He approached as the lift whirred upward and the three of them stepped onto the platform. He briefly wondered if he had spent enough time shining his boots or pressing his uniform along with a multitude of other worries, but the elevator suddenly lurched downward. Too late for that. He managed to assume parade stance just before the lift ground to a halt at the head of an antiseptically white corridor.

Two officers in Imperial olive-gray uniforms stood before the trio. The one with the Commander's insignia loomed rather than stood. He seemed wolfishly lean, and though he appeared young enough, had a haggard stern look to his face that made him seem aged beyond his years. His hawkish nose jutted out above his sternly clenched jaw, and his close-cropped brown hair was beginning to thin beneath the officer's cap he wore atop his head. He turned toward the group, eyes seeming to settle upon Tilyer specifically and glared like a raging bantha. He said nothing, but gestured to the wall impatiently.

Tilyer tried to cover up his shock at the brusque greeting and hurried to comply. The others followed suit. The commander gestured once more, but this time he indicated the older man by his side.

The other officer turned to the new crew members. He did not examine them with the practiced eye of the instructors at the academy, looking them up and down as if the mere passing of his eyes could register their moral, intellectual, and physical stature. On the contrary, his eyes barely registered their presence. His face seemed to be weathered beyond its years, with sunken eyes that appeared bruised because of the shadows that dwelt there. His chin was almost non existent, giving him the look of an elderly fish. He did not at all embody the dashing officers portrayed in the recruitment holovids, nor did he seem to have the inner fire that the instructors back at the academy possessed. Tilyer got the impression that he had spent so much time in the Imperial Navy that all enthusiasm had fled his body. He had probably been shuffled around from post to post in one lackluster assignment after another for years, doing nothing to make himself stand out nor anything to engender the wrath of the Fleet Admirals. He refrained from any more musings as the captain began to speak.

The voice that issued forth from that husk of a man seemed hollow and empty of emotion. "Greetings, I am Captain Almund Ygra, the captain of this vessel." He faltered as if trying to find the proper words.

The wolf of a man beside him stepped in, "And I am Commander Venka. Welcome to the _Enforcer._" The tone in his voice made Tilyer feel he was anything _but_ welcome.

Commander Venka continued, "I know the three of you are fresh out of the academy, and we will do our best to make your transition from training to active duty as smooth as possible. You will find life upon this vessel to be less strictly regimented than that of the academy, but unlike your training, perfect performance is expected. Do your job quickly and efficiently, and I see no future problems. Understood?"

A chorus of "yes sirs" came from the assembled three.

Captain Ygra nodded as if coming out of a trance, "Very well then, ah, Commander Venka shall show you to your quarters." With a sluggish nod, he strode down the hallway and out of sight, leaving the young crewmen alone with the Commander.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

With a long sigh Gabel flopped onto the lower bunk. He rolled over onto his back and tucked his arms under his head.

Tilyer rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Sure, I don't mind sleeping on the top bunk."

"Huh?" came Gabel's mumbled reply.

"Never mind," Tilyer said with a sigh as he surveyed their new living quarters. It was a drab three by three meter room furnished with a small desk attached to one wall, a computer terminal, a pair of plasteel chairs, a refresher unit, and a cramped closet built into one of the blank gray walls. He silently resolved to find something to cover up the blank space no matter what imperial regulation said, but then again, violating regulation seemed to be the order of the day. He'd never heard of an officer and an enlisted man having to room together.

Tilyer was actually quite put out that he had been quartered with the large crewman. Commander Venka had rather venomously informed them that no other officer of comparable rank to Raan had a free bunk, and thus he would have to room with a crewman instead. Ensign Taulin probably received her own room. No, she definitely did get her own room. Otherwise this situation with Gabel wouldn't exist.

That thought reminded him yet again of that vehement commander. Venka's name suited him, Tilyer had decided on the short walk to their quarters. He knew it wasn't right to ridicule fellow officers, even in thought, but the Commander's demeanor could only be labeled as cruel. He said only a few terse words the whole time, but the perpetual condescending sneer on his lips spoke volumes.

With a shake of his head, Tyler dismissed those thoughts and turned to unpack his things. Anyway, Venka was probably just trying to break in the new crewmembers like the instructors at the academy. He had said their orders would be arriving soon, and Tilyer wanted to have everything stowed away properly before he started on active duty. As he reached into the bag, his hand touched something hard and cool. With a reminiscent smile, he drew the small circular device out of the duffle. Turning slightly, he set the object down on the table next to the computer terminal and hit the blinking button on the side.

A small three dimensional picture sprang up over the glossy disk, flickering slightly and then steadying into a clear image. The small holo showed Tilyer, his parents, and his brother Mikal standing at the base of the grand stairs of the Imperial Academy. Everyone beamed excitedly, especially Mikal, resplendent in his graduation uniform. Graduation was the pinnacle of happiness for the Raan family. Everyone was so proud of Mikal.

Tilyer sighed, studying the faces of his mother and father. His parents had been staunchly against it when _he_ wanted to join the navy. He could understand why, though. They didn't want to lose another son, but Tilyer felt it was something he had to do. His departure from home was less that happy, and though his parents had attended his graduation, it seemed to Tilyer that there was a hint of sadness to their proud smiles.

The chirp of his commlink disturbed him from his reverie. He plucked it from his belt. "This is Raan." His own words made him shiver with delight. It was something an action hero in the holovids would say, totally unlike him but thrilling none-the-less.

The male voice on the other end was unfamiliar and officiously cold, "Flight Officer Raan, you and Crewman Thahlwin report to the docking bay for further orders."

"And . . . where is that?"

There was a long pause before the other man replied tersely, "Look up the ship schematics on your computer terminal, but be quick about it. Bridge out."

"What's up?" Gabel intoned excitedly

"Orders."

"Oh good! Where to?" he replied happily

Tilyer ignored the larger man. With a few hurried taps of the console, he found the information he needed. He printed it out on a sheet of flimsiplast and dashed out the door with Gabel in tow.

* * *

Tilyer attempted to smooth his uniform as the fighter bay doors hissed open, not wanting to look mussed for his first day of real duty. He stopped short though as he caught sight of the docking bay. It was a little hole in the wall barely big enough for the pair TIE fighters perched on the launching rack above and a few maintenance stations. Currently one of the TIE's solar panels lay on the deck where a trio of technicians and several pit droids were hard at work on it. One of them, a wiry older man with barely a few wisps of iron gray hair on his shining pate, shouted angrily, berating the droids as if their performance could improve with a slew of insults their tiny processors couldn't comprehend.

Tilyer frowned as he walked into the bay. He hadn't really known what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. Everything at the academy was so grand, the architecture fine and detailed. It inspired its students with awe and pride at becoming the officers of this magnificent navy, but an officer of this? Everything on this ship seemed cramped and spartan. He was expecting something more fitting of an Imperial officer, but the more of the _Enforcer_ he saw, the more he began to wonder just what that was.

Without warning the ship-wide commlink suddenly crackled to life. The crewmen paused as the captain's voice boomed throughout the hanger. Strangely, it didn't sound like the same man Tilyer met just minutes before. His voice seemed somehow more vibrant and full of purpose.

"Attention all hands. It is my great pleasure to relay the joyous news we have just received. The Empire has just struck a mortal blow against that band of criminals known as the Rebellion. Lord Darth Vader's Star Destroyer fleet has located and destroyed their base of operations, and now nothing stands in the way of Emperor Palpatine's benevolent hand and Imperial supremacy."

The technicians erupted into a chorus of jubilant cheers. Tilyer felt himself get caught up in the frenzy as he pumped his fist into the air. He didn't even mind when Gabel gave him a hearty slap on the back, nearly sprawling him across the floor. He could barely make sense of the flood of emotions that surged through his senses: joy, relief, even a little disappointment that he had not been there to witness it himself, but also something else. Before he could think more on the unexpected news, the captain's voice began again.

"We shall be departing for the Outer Rim within the hour. We must stop for further resuply in the Corellia sector, and then make for Belsavis. There we will aid in rooting out fleeing rebel elements. Prepare the ship for hyperspace, and man your stations. That is all." The comm clicked off.

"I'm glad to see you're in such a good mood for your first day," a rumbling voice announced with a chuckle.

The speaker was a dark-skinned, well-built man clad in a bulky black flight suit. His skin didn't seem to be pigmented naturally, however, as if he had been subject to intense radiation at some point of his life. As soon as Tilyer's eyes fell upon the Lieutenant's insignia upon the man's chest, he snapped to attention.

"Flight Officer Raan reporting for duty, sir!"

"Huh? Oh!" Gabel clumsily followed suit.

The other pilot gave the pair a dismissive wave, "Don't bother yourselves with that kind of formality. It takes a bunch of people to keep a fighter in the air. Without one of us, none of us would succeed. We're all equals down here." He grinned and extended a gloved hand first to Tilyer, "Lieutenant Jerrol Del'Goren."

Tilyer didn't know what to do for a moment. It was as if he had suddenly stepped into a different world; cramped, cluttered, and informal. With nothing else to do, he meekly took Lieutenant Del'Goren's hand.

Del'Goren smiled, "Flight Officer Raan, nice to finally meet you. We've been short a pilot for several weeks now. Flight Officer Hurdiss managed to find his way into the engine wash of a star destroyer while on patrol around Coruscant. I hope you have a little more sense than him."

"I'm sure," Tilyer said a bit warily. He still couldn't understand this sudden deviation from protocol.

Lieutenant Del'Goren turned to Gabel, "And Crewman Thahlwin, good to have you as well." He pointed to the older mechanic as he went back to cursing one of the pit droids, "That is your superior, Chief Sucha. Go over and introduce yourself."

As Gabel headed off, Del'Goren turned back to catch Tilyer looking up at the TIE fighter suspended above their heads. He smiled, "Kinna makes your heart jump just looking at it, huh?"

Tilyer smiled and nodded.

The Lieutenant patted Tilyer on the back, "Believe me, it never fades, and that first flight?" He shook his head wistfully, "Your gut stays up in your throat the whole time." The pair looked up at the fighter in silence for a few moments before Del'Goren spoke again. "That one is yours." He pointed to wingless fighter hanging overhead.

Tilyer's spirits suddenly fell.

"Don't worry," Del'Goren assured him, "it is just routine maintenance. The Chief said there was some kind of fluctuation with the energy converters or something and he wanted to check it out. Nothing to get excited about."

Tilyer nodded, but the explanation still didn't help his mood.

"Anyway, I just got out of the sims. You want to give it a whirl? I know you've probably had your fill at the academy, but you can't log too many hours."

"Yessir, I'd enjoy that," He replied with some measure of relief. They made their way to the door to the rear of the hanger as the technicians roared with laughter at some unknown joke, Gabel laughing hardest of all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tilyer sighed as he sat his meal tray on the mess table. It was something he'd been doing quite a bit the past four days—sighing, that is. He grimaced with distaste at the various bland squares and slops on his tray. The serving droids said the orange one would taste just like roast nerf, but Tilyer had found that to be a lie the first day. He picked at the unappetizing food, just trying to sate his hunger for now and thinking over the events of the past few days.

The _Enforcer_ had made its stop in Corellia on schedule, picking up further provisions and, to Tilyer's surprise, a detachment of storm troopers. In fact, he had been among the officers assembled to receive the new troops. He would never forget the moment when the first pair of white-clad feet hit the deck. The way the stormtrooper captain paused and calmly raked his emotionless bug-eyed gaze over the assembled men sent chills up Tilyer's spine.

He had heard many rumors about stormtroopers during his time in the academy. One brave and very gullible soul said that all stormtroopers were genetic clones bred to be impervious to pain, fear, and every other human sentiment. No one really believed him about the clone part, but the rigid discipline and strict adherence to duty apparent in all stormtroopers made the latter part seem all too possible. Tilyer had never been that close to a trooper before, but he was immediately glad that they were on his side.

"Mind if we sit here?" an annoyingly cheerful voice asked from behind.

Before he could turn around, the speaker circled the table. He was of comparable build to Tilyer, trim and clad in an olive-gray officer's uniform—not surprising, considering this was the officer's mess. He smoothed down his parted hair as he flashed Tilyer a disarming grin.

Tilyer opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw Linia Taulin trailing behind him. He had only seen her face a few times since he'd been on the ship, and those instances had always been in the hallways when each on his own respective errand. Still, every time he saw her, she had only uttered a meek greeting and hurried on her way as if anxious to escape Tilyer's presence.

He was so taken aback that she was actually making an attempt to be sociable that he forgot his mouth was still open. He hurriedly mumbled an affirmative, motioning to the seats on the other side of the table.

The young officer smiled and took the seat. Linia followed suit rather reluctantly, but said nothing in protest. The young man offered his hand to Tilyer, "I'm Lieutenant Urtis Dusat. A pleasure to meet you. And you are?"

Tilyer gave him a half-hearted smile, grasping the man's hand, "Flight Officer Tilyer Raan. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Dusat said pleasantly, digging into his meal. After a bite, he paused, "Oh, how clumsy of me." He gestured to Linia, "This is Ensign Linia Taulin."

"We've met," she said quietly.

Dusat just shrugged and continued the conversation, "Ah, good. Well then, I suppose you're a pilot?"

"Yes, a TIE fighter pilot."

"Ah, wonderful. What better way to serve the Empire? As for me, I man the sensor station up on the bridge. That's where Ensign Taulin and I met."

Tilyer nodded absently. This one was almost as annoying as Gable. Still, he was a fellow officer. He could at least keep up the small talk for courtesy's sake. "Ah, do you like it?" he finally asked.

Dusat shrugged, "I can't complain. It's got its high and low points, but the bridge can be pretty exciting at times—a lot more than what I used to get as a computer programmer before joining up." He chuckled, "It's not very glamorous, but we all must do our part to help in these times of strife, 'eh?"

Tilyer smiled despite himself. Finally, he found someone else on this ship who took pride in his work and his government.

"How about you?" Dusat asked.

"Things could be better. My fighter has been in two separate pieces these past few days, so I have pretty much been confined to running errands and practicing in the sims. Lieutenant Del'Goren has been putting me through the paces, though. He's proven to be an impeccable pilot."

Urtis laughed, "Of course."

"The technicians just got done putting my TIE back together, actually. I'm anxious about my first mission, whenever that happens."

An electronic chirp sounded from Dusat's breast pocket.

"Oh, that would be the bridge," he said with an apologetic smile. "Please, excuse me. Enjoy your meals." The Lieutenant made for the door, holding the commlink to his lips as he disappeared into the hall.

"If you can call it that," Tilyer said flatly, poking the orange square with his fork.

"What are you going to name it?" Linia suddenly asked.

Tilyer was so taken surprised by her comment, for a moment he said nothing. "Um, name what?"

"Your ship."

"My fighter? Well, I hadn't really thought about it," he stammered. "I suppose Alpha 001-2 will do."

"I heard that it's a tradition among pilots," she said meekly. She abruptly went back to eating her dinner, almost as if ashamed at her clumsy statement.

For several long moments Linia and Tilyer said nothing as they pretended to eat their meals. Linia broke the awkward silence first. "You know, my father served in the Imperial Navy. He was a pilot too."

"Really?"

"Yes," she replied, not looking up from her plate.

"What did he pilot?"

"One of those old Z-95 Headhunters. They were top of the line back then before the Empire introduced the TIE series. He was actually pretty good from what I hear."

Tilyer smiled, "And what did he name his ship?"

"_Vigilance_. He really believed in the new galactic order. He thought it would better life for us all, being under one supreme ruler and not having to debate every decision in the Senate. He reminds me of Urtis. Both of them believe so strongly in the Empire . . . too bad that faith couldn't save him when his ship's fuel cells ruptured." She grew quiet.

Tilyer's mind raced, trying to think of something appropriate to say. She pressed on, however, before he could speak. "You know, it's funny. I joined the Navy to try to please him, even though he died two years before that, leaving _me_ to carry on the Taulin line." She gave a humorless laugh. "I felt I owed it to him to leave behind a legacy he'd be proud of. It was his name that got me into the Academy anyway—being a woman and all."

Tilyer chuckled nervously, "Oh? I hadn't noticed."

They shared a laugh at the feeble joke, and once more silence fell over the table like a palpable blanket.

"I joined because of my brother, Mikal," Tilyer said quietly.

"Oh?" she asked with a slight smile, "Is he a pilot too?"

Tilyer glanced downward, "No, he joined the medical corps . . . but not any more. He was on the Death Star when the Rebels attacked."

Linia lowered her eyes. She reached out slowly and patted his hand sympathetically. "I understand."

He gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Listen," he said, abruptly changing the subject, "I'm sorry about how I acted before when we first met."

Linia waved away the apology. She smiled, "I understand."

The intercom suddenly clicked on, "Attention all hands. We shall soon exit hyperspace into the Malastare system. Man your stations and prepare for reentry into real space. That is all."

Tilyer raised his eyebrows, "I didn't know we were going to be stopping any time soon."

"Neither did I, but we'd best be going," Linia said as she stood.

"Yes, we should."

She paused a moment as if thinking of something else to say, then turned on her heel and strode out the door.

* * *

Linia Taulin rushed past the white-armored figure stationed at the bridge entrance, her breath coming in beleaguered pants. The stormtrooper hardly moved from his stance, but she swore she could feel his glossy-eyed stare following her every move as she slid into her seat before the communications consol. Beside her, Urtis flashed welcoming smile before turning back to his own work.

She could see Captain Ygra and Commander Venka talking from where they stood before the transparent durasteel that made up the bridge viewport. The captain stood with his hands clasped behind his back gazing out into the molten blue skies of hyperspace. His demeanor had changed since their departure from Imperial Center. He seemed like a new man to just about every member of the crew. Perhaps the promise of glory had instilled in him a new purpose, a chance to prove himself before he was inevitably forced into retirement.

"How many minutes until entry into real space?" he called back Linia, Urtis, and the other four crewmen and officers manning posts on the bridge.

Dusat was quick to pipe up, "ETA, two minutes sir."

Ygra nodded without even turning around, "Very well. Keep me posted."

"Malastare is not our destination," Commander Venka stated flatly.

"Yes, but it is on our way," the captain replied smoothly.

"Are you expecting any rebel activity?"

Captain Ygra smiled, "You read my mind, Lieutenant. You see, the native Dug species has seen fit to reignite their feud with the Gran that built a colony on the world in the old days of the Republic. Imperial high command seems content to let them resolve the conflict themselves, since there are not critical installations or industries located in the vicinity. Even so, the conflict has thrown the shipping lanes into disarray. I suspect we might catch a rebel or two trying to make a break for the core worlds in the midst of the confusion."

Venka nodded knowingly, "As long as it is on our way, it cannot hurt."

"Don't worry. We will only stay long enough to make a quick reconnoiter and then be on our way in just a few hours."

"Entry into real space in ten seconds," Dusat called out.

"We will find out shortly whether or not this delay was worth our while or not," Commander Venka said noncommittally.

One of the other bridge crewmen counted down the reentry, finally easing back on the lever at his console to release the _Enforcer_ from hyperspace. The molted blue outside the view port faded into star lines, shrinking down into individual pinpricks of light as space took form around them. Malastare hung below the view port, a distant collection of varied greens and browns surrounded by the black void of space.

Linia quickly began typing commands on her console to establish a communications link with planetary customs.

"Shields up," Captain Ygra ordered. The sound of coursing electricity thrummed around the bulkhead as the protective bubble of energy suddenly enveloped the _Enforcer_.

"Sensors, report," Venka barked.

"Normal space traffic, sir," Urtis responded quickly. "A large convoy from the Aldison trading consortium lies just off our starboard side. They seem to be making for the orbital loading station."

"Nothing suspicious?"

"No sir. The first ships of the convoy are just beginning to cross our bow."

The _Enforcer_ suddenly shuddered. Linia lurched forward in her seat, grasping the edges of her console. Just a split second later another violent blast rocked the ship. Captain Ygra managed to steady himself as Venka bounced off the transparisteel bulkhead and stumbled backwards.

"Report!" Ygra exclaimed. Venka said nothing. He was too busy trying to catch the blood streaming from his broken nose.

"Shields low, but no significant hull damage!" a technician cried out.

Urtis' voice was frantic, "We were just hit with two proton torpedoes. I'm counting two fighters and two space transports. They're making a run for the surface!"

"Rebels!" Captain Ygra exclaimed.

"Launch the fighters!" Venka roared. He gave up trying to keep the blood from his uniform and pointed accusingly at Urtis, "We can discuss your performance later, Lieutenant Dusat. Right now, I want those rebel dogs!"

Linia turned to relay the orders, but she couldn't help from noticing Commander Venka's red-stained fists and the blood that dribbled down his chin and onto his pristine uniform.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The sudden jolts that shook the _Enforcer_ had startled Tilyer, but the call to scramble the fighters shocked him even more. At first he thought a stray asteroid or perhaps even another ship had struck the corvette, but all such notions were immediately dispelled as he rushed for his fighter. He and Lieutenant Del'Goren had already donned their flight suits as they had done at least half a dozen times before, only to wait out the duration of real space flight without incident.

This time alarm klaxons blared throughout the hanger, red strobe lights bathing the ship in a shade of red that felt like vibroblades stabbing into his eyes. His heart pounded furiously as he was lowered into the TIE's cockpit. Gabel leaned in, attaching his oxygen lines and booting up vital systems.

"All systems are operational!" he shouted so that Tilyer could hear him. He slapped Tilyer's helmet, grinning stupidly, "Be careful out there, and knock 'em dead!" He retracted from the opening, sealing the hatch with a hum as the magnetic locks activated.

The young flight officer sighed, trying to calm his nerves. He reached out and grasped the steering yoke in front of him with both gloved hands and gently rested his feet upon the rudder pedals below, eagerly wriggling his fingers and toes in anticipation.

Lieutenant Del'Goren's voice crackled over his helmet's integral commlink, "We've got four ships bound for the planet. Sensor analysis has identified them as a pair of Y-wings and a pair of YT-1300 freighters. They just made an attack run on the _Enforcer_, probably hoping to disable us before they made their run to the planet's surface. Our orders are to capture freighters, if possible, but use of lethal force has been authorized."

Tilyer's breath caught in his throat, "YT-1300?" After the victory at Hoth, Lord Darth Vader himself had issued a notice to all imperial forces to be on the lookout for a heavily modified YT-1300 that was rumored to be transporting high-ranking rebel officials.

Del'Goren seemed to read Tilyer's mind, "No telling if they're the ones Lord Vader is after, but there is only one way to find out. Remember your training, and stay on my wing."

If the Lieutenant said anything else, Tilyer didn't hear it because the TIE rack suddenly cycled forward. The deafening clank of machinery reverberated through the fighter's tiny compartment, drowning out all other sound until the TIE hit the bay containment field. The expanse of stars before him wavered as the fighter hit, energy crackling around the hull before the sudden feeling of weightlessness took hold of Tilyer's body.

He fought to control the frantic pace of his breath as the sudden coldness of space gripped his body like a vice. It was simply exhilarating. Del'Goren was right. Tilyer had experienced space flight before, but this was totally different. It was his first mission as full-fledged Imperial officer. Pride and anxiousness swelled in his chest, but he tried to fight those extraneous emotions down as the Lieutenant's voice emanated from his commlink.

"Our targets are at heading zero three mark two seven seven. Get on my wing and stay there for the approach. We hit the fighter escorts first, and then move in after the transports."

"Understood, sir," Tilyer intoned.

He pushed the throttle to the maximum as the pair of TIEs made a sharp turn, racing off after the fleeing ships. His fighter's twin ion engines roared behind him, filling the cockpit with a low rumble that vibrated within Tilyer's chest and only served to increase the tension in his body.

"We're almost on them," Lieutenant Del'Goren said mechanically.

Tilyer could make out the shapes of the Corellian transports, gray disks framing the blazing azure fires of the ships' engine wash. Four bright orange dots signified the Y-wings as their engines howled furiously to escape the ever-gaining TIEs.

"Two clicks out and counting," Del'Goren announced. "Line up your shot on the closest fighter, but don't fire until you reach optimum range."

Tilyer allowed his targeting hairs to drift over the Y-wing, watching as each individual engine, the cockpit, even the carbon scoring across the ship's surface became visible. The blue targeting reticule on his HUD suddenly flared as his computer squealed a lock.

"Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . "

His finger tightened on the trigger, heart beating frantically.

Y-wing began to pull up.

Tilyer started to panic. His breathing increased almost to the point of hyperventilation.

"One more second."

He wanted so badly to stab at the trigger. It seemed like forever. Why wouldn't Del'Goren give the order?

"Now!"

Tilyer thumbed the firing stud without hesitation. As the flurry of emerald green bolts flashed toward the arcing fighter, he suddenly understood the lieutenant's hesitation. With the panicked maneuver, the Y-wing's pilot had actually exposed his broad top side to the approaching TIEs. The rapid stream of laser bolts first struck against the cockpit, dissipating against the craft's shields. Tilyer relentlessly held the trigger down, watching eagerly as the Y-wing's shields went down with a flash. Molten armor plates spun off into space as the beams of green energy stitched a burning line across its fuselage. The fighter began to rotate trying to throw off Tilyer's aim, but it couldn't prevent the inevitable. Several bolts hit the narrow spine that connected the port side engine to the rest of the fighter. An internal conduit exploded, tearing the engine from the rest of the body. A short moment later, another internal explosion went off that consumed the rest of the Y-wing like a hungry rancor.

"Break right!" the lieutenant barked.

Tilyer didn't stop to think. He stomped the rudder pedal and pulled back on the yoke. A split second later, ruby laser bolts sliced through the space his fighter had just vacated. He frantically looked to his sensors. The other Y-wing had broken off to attack the TIEs and was now embroiled in an intense dogfight with Lieutenant Del'Goren's craft.

"I'll take this one." the lieutenant shouted, "You go after the transports!"

Tilyer didn't question the order. "Understood, sir." He swung his craft around and shot off after the transports.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with them. As far as freighters went, YT-1300s were fast, but TIE fighters outmatched them by far in speed and maneuverability. Tilyer rapidly tapped commands upon his systems console. He opened a broad channel over all commlink frequencies. "Rebel freighters: cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. Failure to comply will be met with lethal force." He paused only long enough to fire a quick laser burst over the bow of the trailing freighter. "The next shot will not miss."

Nothing happened. Very well. They had their chance. Now they had to face the consequences.

Tilyer stabbed the trigger. The deck plating beneath his feet thrummed as the TIE's paired lasers spewed green death out into space. Bolt after destructive bolt dissipated against the freighter's shields as the enemy pilot pulled his craft up and angled away from the planet

"They're trying to make it to deep space!" he called out into the tactical frequency.

"Destroy them before they can make the calculations for the jump to hyperspace!" Lieutenant Del'Goren shouted

Tilyer quickly closed the gap on the fleeing ships, tucking in behind the trailing freighter. He took care to line up his shot, watching the crosshairs on the HUD burn with azure fire. His finger moved to squeeze the trigger.

But he never completed the motion. Several large squarish objects suddenly filled his cockpit window, streaming out of the YT-1300's opened bay doors. One of the objects scraped over the top of the ball cockpit, another missing entirely, but one clipped the TIE's starboard solar panel. It splintered apart, filling the area with black metallic objects that bounced and clattered off of the TIE's hull. Tilyer could only watch helplessly as the transports suddenly accelerated and then disappear entirely as they made the jump to hyperspace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Smugglers!" Venka exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table. "Just how did you come to that conclusion, Lieutenant?" He loomed menacingly over where Lieutenant Del'Goren and Tilyer sat in the cramped briefing room. His cheeks flushed red with anger, matching the hue of his bloodstained uniform. He now wore adhesive tape to hold his shattered nose in place, and the flesh around it was already starting to bruise. Evidently he thought the debriefing took precedence over his own bacta treatments.

"That will be quite enough, Commander." Captain Ygra said calmly, waving Venka back to his seat.

Captain Ygra turned back to the pilots. Tilyer couldn't help but notice that his face seemed less sallow than just a few days before, and his eyes no longer had that hollow look about them.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren, while I trust your judgment, my second brings up a good point. How can you be sure these fugitives were indeed smugglers and not rebels as Commander Venka seems to believe?"

The dark-skinned pilot ran a hand over his bald pate, obviously trying to curb his impatience, "First of all, sir, they were carrying a very large arms shipment."

Tilyer bowed his head to hide his embarrassment as a chill ran through his body. He hadn't known it at the time, but those black objects he had managed to saturate space with were the weapons Del'Goren was talking about. They now resided in the _Enforcer's_ impounded cargo bay.

Venka was quick to interrupt, "Rebels also need weapons, Lieutenant."

"But Captain Ygra stated earlier in the debriefing that the Dug were embroiled in a conflict with the Gran on Malastare. The smugglers were most likely trying to furnish arms to one side or the other. Besides, no self-respecting rebel would allow his cargo to fall into Imperial hands without more of a fight."

"What would you know of how a 'self-respecting Rebel' would behave?" Venka sneered. "Regardless of all that, you allowed the freighters to escape. We cannot allow—"

Ygra silenced his second with a simple gesture. Venka's eyes flared in anger, but he fell silent nonetheless.

"Your performance was commendable—both of you," said Captain Ygra. "You performed your duty to the best of your abilities, and I can find no fault with your actions. Shower up, and sleep well. Dismissed."

The pilots stood and filed out of the debriefing room. As soon as the door hissed shut, Venka turned toward Captain Ygra, obviously fighting to control his irritation. "Captain . . . are you sure this is wise?"

"Is what wise?"

"Your treatment of the pilots. You praise them, despite their failure. We cannot seem to tolerate such dereliction of duty, sir. We need warriors we can count on, not babies to be pampered. I held my tongue before in deference to your position, but I must object."

Captain Ygra raised his eyebrows questioningly, "You think this operation was a failure?"

"Well, Flight Officer Raan did allow the freighters to escape."

"Do you really think he could have prevented them? Two fighters against a pair of YT-1300s? We were fortunate the craft had not been modified with any weaponry. I doubt we would have been able to seize their cargo otherwise, much less survive."

Venka swallowed hard, "Yes sir."

"Very well then," Captain Ygra said. "Send a message to high command and inform them of our progress. I will be on the bridge preparing for departure." Ygra stood and left with a curt nod.

For a moment, Venka hardly moved. He was still trying to come to grips with the sudden change in Captain Ygra. The man had always been a staunch ally for any decision Venka made, even if he was a burn-out of sorts. Now he was suddenly disregarding his second's advice where as before, he wouldn't act without asking another officer of his opinion. He had _never_ conducted a debriefing himself before. He had always left it up to his subordinates and never taken an interest in the minute details of an operation.

Venka was decidedly uneasy about the abrupt metamorphosis of his commanding officer. He was normally such a reserved man, and now he was suddenly making rash decisions like taking that detour into the Malastare system. Maybe he scented some kind of glory on the horizon with the new deployment, and he just wanted to accomplish something worthwhile before it was too late. Venka didn't know what motivated the captain, but he did know that it could bode ill for the _Enforcer_.

He began to tap out commands on his noteputer to compile the message Captain Ygra had requested, but with a few revisions. He detailed an encounter with possible rebel forces, the destruction of two enemy fighters, and recommended a more in-depth investigation into the activities of the system. Captain Ygra would hardly notice the revisions, and Imperial command would undoubtedly be delighted with the destruction of more rebel assets. Pleased with his handiwork, he headed up to the communications relay.

* * *

A harsh clang rang through the pilot's locker room as Lieutenant Del'Goren hurled his helmet into his open locker, "Venka is even stupider than I thought he was. Rebels operating out of Malastare? It's ridiculous! The Gran and the Dug are too concerned about their own petty squabbles to worry about a galactic revolution."

"Commander Venka doesn't strike me as the stupid type," Tilyer said mildly as he shucked his own flight suit.

The bald officer gave his subordinate a wry grin as he wrapped a towel around his waist. "Well, I suppose you're right about that. He's a very intelligent individual, even if he is a conniving snake-in-the-grass. He knows I was right."

"So if he knew it was the truth, why didn't he say so?"

Del'Goren stepped into a refresher unit and Tilyer took the adjacent one. "My first guess would be that he gets a kick out of making the rest of us look incompetent so he can feel good about himself. Maybe his mom didn't hug him enough. I don't know. That man is a social climber. All he cares about is making himself look better in his own eyes and those of High Command."

Tilyer wanted to say something, to voice the singular question bouncing frantically around his mind like a pinball gone mad. How could the Lieutenant rationalize slandering another Imperial officer so viciously? Del'Goren's words screamed in protest of everything he had been taught at the Academy. Commander Venka may have seemed cruel and callous on the exterior, but Imperial officers were of the finest moral and intellectual caliber. To make such derogatory remarks about another officer bordered on a court marshal-worthy offense.

But instead he said nothing. The pilots finished their showers in silence. After getting dressed in a clean uniform, Tilyer headed back to his quarters.

He punched in the proper entrance code and the door rasped open. From the darkened interior, Tilyer could guess that Gabel was on duty somewhere. _A good time to get some sleep_, he thought as he entered the room. His first footfall sent something skittering across the floor to rebound off the opposite wall with a metallic clang. Frowning, he reached over to slap the light switch.

The overhead glow panels flickered on to reveal a chaotic mess. Everything in the room that had not been tied down now lay scattered across the floor. Of course, that wasn't much, but several sheets of flimsiplast and what had once been a pair of neatly folded uniforms littered the deck. To make matters worse, the desktop light had fallen off, and the glow panel within had shattered leaving a mess of broken glass and white goo.

As he surveyed the wreckage, his eyes fell upon the object he had kicked earlier. He stooped and picked up the small silvery disk with a reminiscent smile and hit the small button on its side.

The image that would have normally oriented itself over the small holo projector was gone, now replaced with a haze of colors and shapes scrambled beyond recognition. Tilyer couldn't even make out the faces of his mother and father amid the morass of muddled pixels. He sighed and switched off the projector and begin to pick through the mess on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Tilyer's skin prickled into goose bumps as he gazed out of the cockpit of his TIE fighter, yet he knew the shiver running through his body wasn't from his environmental suit's inability to stave off the cold of space. No matter how dull the patrol route, he always felt that familiar tingle when he experienced the exhilaration of space flight. But then again, this particular patrol _was_ boring, no matter how thrilling being behind the controls of a starfighter might be.

He sighed, looking down at the white ball of ice hanging in space below him. After a brief three-day journey through hyperspace, the _Enforcer_ finally arrived in its main destination, Belsavis. The planet used to be a lush jungle world, but some kind of accelerated ice age had fallen upon the planet, turning it into a nearly uninhabitable frozen rock. In the later years of the Republic, the colonists on planet built a number of domed enclaves in order to save the native species that would inevitably be wiped out by the encroaching ice. Far from coincidentally, the colonists managed to turn quite a profit by setting up farms within the environmental domes to produce a rare type of silk plant that would only grow in its native soil.

When the _Enforcer_ arrived in-system two days ago, Captain Ygra made contact with the planetary officials and informed them that the _Enforcer_ would be making "random customs inspections" over the next few days. Of course, that was only a half-truth. The Corellian Corvette would be making inspections, but instead of cargo, passengers would be the objects of scrutiny.

So far, the only vessels to venture into the system were a pair of bulk freighters on their way to Duros and a pleasure yacht making a sight-seeing trip along the rim. Each had been boarded in turn, but no contraband or identifiable rebel operatives had been discovered, so they were allowed to continue on their way.

Tilyer and Lieutenant Del'Goren had occupied the past two days with long uneventful patrols through the empty space around Belsavis. Currently the TIEs were making scans of the planetary topography by following a predesignated grid pattern through the upper stratosphere while the _Enforcer_ oversaw the operation from a low orbit.

Tilyer's flight computer suddenly beeped, indicating that it had located some kind of anomaly.

"Lieutenant," Tilyer said into the comm. "I think I found something."

"What is it?" came the reply.

"A metallic signature on the ice flows several clicks outside of the agricultural dome designated Green XII."

"Any idea what it is?"

"None sir. Whatever it is, it's not very big."

"Transmit the coordinates to my computer."

Tilyer did so.

"Hmm, yes. I'm picking it up too. Perhaps we should go down for a closer look."

Tilyer's computer suddenly began to shrill a warning, forestalling any reply. "Oh no. I'm painting five targets lifting off from those coordinates. Two medium transports and three fighters . . . X-wings! They must have detected our scans!"

"Damn!" Del'Goren swore. "Rendezvous with the _Enforcer_ in orbit. They'll eat us alive in the atmosphere."

Tilyer clicked his acknowledgement and angled his fighter upward, racing for the relative safety of space.

* * *

"Alpha One reports ships launching from the planet surface," Linia Taulin shouted from her post on the bridge of the _Enforcer_. "Suspected to be hostile!"

"How many?" Commander Venka barked.

"Five—two transports and three X-wings," she answered.

"What are your orders, Captain?" Venka asked.

Captain Ygra smiled as he gazed out the view port, "Plot an intercept course and charge turbolaser batteries. Issue a demand for unconditional surrender over all channels. If you receive no reply, fire at will."

* * *

Tilyer almost breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the _Enforcer_'s familiar shape looming overhead. The brief respite was shattered, however, as his flight computer squealed a warning that one of the enemy fighters was trying to obtain a missile lock.

"I've got one going for a lock!" he shouted over the tactical frequency.

"Hold steady Two, I'm coming about. When I give the signal, dive back planet-side."

No sooner had Del'Goren said that, than the flight computer again shrieked for Tilyer's attention. "Damn, he's got a lock! Torpedo away!"

"Steady."

"But, Lieutenant!"

"Steady."

"Three clicks and closing . . . two . . . one!"

"Now!"

Tilyer shoved the yoke down as far as he could. The small craft shuddered against the strain as Lieutenant Del'Goren's fighter howled overhead, lasers spewing a green curtain of energy through the area Tilyer had occupied just moments before. The emerald bolts scythed through space, interceding with the oncoming torpedo before it burst into a raging yellow fireball. Del'Goren's TIE whipped through the inferno unscathed as Tilyer brought his vessel around.

"Good shooting, One," he said breathlessly.

"You can thank me later. Now form up on my wing. They're almost on top of us!"

* * *

Lieutenant Urtis Dusat looked up from his sensor console, alarm evident upon his face. "Captain! One of the X-wings is engaging our fighters—the other two are lining up for an attack run on the _Enforcer_."

"And the transports?"

"They're making a run for deep space using the fighters as a screen."

"Full speed after them. A few snub fighters won't stop us. They cannot escape that easily."

* * *

Tilyer threw his fighter into a frantic barrel roll as the enemy fighter behind him spewed bolts of red energy all around his tiny craft. He ground his teeth together as he hauled back on the yoke, launching the TIE into a tight loop. The X-wing blazed underneath, matching Tilyer move-for-move.

"I can't shake him, Lead—need assistance!"

"Negative, Two. The other fighters are on an attack run against the _Enforcer_. I have to intercept them."

"He's going to vape me any second!" Tilyer screamed in protest as scintillating laser fire once more flashed beneath his cockpit.

"If they manage to launch torpedoes, _everyone_ on the Enforcer is going to be vaporized. You're on your own. Sorry!"

Tilyer grunted a reluctant acknowledgement as he stomped on the right rudder pedal and dialed back his throttle. The enemy fighter whipped overhead and began a turn that would intersect Tilyer's own path. He made a quick redirection and punched the throttle full speed to bring his craft up behind the X-wing, but the other pilot had anticipated the move. He whirled his own vessel up into a trajectory that would take the two fighters into a head on pass.

Tilyer's common sense screamed at him that this was a _very_ bad idea, but he didn't listen to it. If he didn't take a chance and end the dogfight right now, he was going to slip up sooner or later, and the other pilot would make sure he didn't live to tell the story. He gritted his teeth and pressed down on the trigger. As the X-wing's own fire reached him, he ducked low then right and back up, grinning to see his emerald shots splash off the craft's forward shield. The stream of red laser fire wound its way through space like a live serpent seeking out the rapidly closing TIE. Tilyer allowed himself a smile as the first few shots missed, but reality suddenly took icy hold as the inevitable happened.

Two bolts seared through one of his solar panels, doing no major damage, but a third lanced through the lower portion of the ball cockpit as it cored through the laser assembly and back into the engine housing. The resulting explosion shook the TIE so hard that Tilyer feared it would rip the whole thing apart. Fortunately for him, the engine shielding managed to contain most of the blast, but as the X-wing hurtled past, a cold fear settled into his stomach. Belsavis' icy face filled his entire view screen, and his inertial velocity was hurtling him right into its frigid grasp.

* * *

"I've lost contact with Alpha Two!" Linia called out.

"We've got bigger problems," Urtis exclaimed. "They've launched torpedoes—four of them five clicks out and closing!"

"Target all batteries on the incoming ordnance!" the captain shouted.

As ordered, the paired turbolaser batteries opened up, filling space with a wall of green laser fire. One torpedo exploded, then another. Two more were still rocketing toward the _Enforcer_.

"Three clicks out," Urtis said. "Two."

One of them detonated in a dazzling explosion, but the other blasted through the gauntlet of laser fire. Linia closed her eyes and braced herself at the console. The _Enforcer_ shuddered as the missile struck the starboard side, but thankfully its shields absorbed the worst of the damage. Nonetheless, Linia's breath came in frantic pants as she opened her eyes once more.

"Are the fighters still closing?" Commander Venka asked.

Lieutenant Dusat nodded, "Yessir, three clicks out—almost in range of our batteries."

"Then shoot them!"

The turbolaser batteries fired again just as the enemy fighters began their attack run, but for all their power, the massive cannons couldn't track their quarry as well as the X-wings could avoid their fire. They wove their way through the curtain of emerald destruction, all the time pouring fire into the corvette's shields.

"Forward shields are down to thirty percent!" one of the bridge technicians shouted.

"Intensify turbolaser fire!" Ygra ordered.

"Output is already one hundred percent," another tech answered, but still the X-wings grew closer.

Suddenly a new voice spoke in the cosmic light show. Lieutenant Del'Goren's fighter rocketed after the X-wings, raining down a steady stream of fire on the lead craft.

The enemy vessels grew larger and larger through the forward view-screen until they seemed impossibly close. Linia's heart skipped a beat as she saw one fighter, the one Lieutenant Del'Goren had been targeting, suddenly explode into a fireball of blue gas as its engine ruptured. The other fighter looked as if it would shoot overhead, but at the last moment it spat another pair of torpedoes from its forward tubes.

The X-wing and missiles shot overhead, but as the fighter banked away, the torpedoes plowed into the _Enforcer_'s spine.

The shields flashed as the first one hit, but failed to stop the second as it detonated alone the ship's communication array. The communication dish mounted on top practically disintegrated in the explosion, and the blast sheered away a portion of the ship's hull, opening part of the top deck to cold vacuum.

On the bridge, if felt as if the whole ship was about to break apart. Linia just barely managed to keep her head from going through her console as the rest of the technicians maintained similar death grips on various stationary objects. As the shaking stopped, Linia breathed a sigh of relief, thoroughly enjoying the fact that the _Enforcer_ hadn't deatomized after all.

"Captain," Linia said urgently, "Shields are down, but it looks like the rebels are making a run for it. Shall we pursue them?"

Only silence answered her.

"Captain?"

Linia gasped in horror as she turned to see Captain Ygra's crumpled body sprawled across the floor. He laid unmoving, eyes closed, with a steady trickle of crimson dribbling from his nose and mouth. Linia stared in a moment of dumbstruck silence before her sense of duty broke free of the dread fermenting in her bowels. She frantically tapped into the ship's communication grid.

"Medical team to the bridge—the captain's been injured. Repeat, Captain Ygra is down!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tana Yin'Baara muttered to herself as she fumbled for a hydrospanner with twice-gloved fingers. Why did Da have to send her, of all people, out onto the ice plains to fix this blasted machine? And why did it have to be so damn cold? Tana grumbled a few more complaints before she finally managed to obtain a secure-enough grip and turned to the ice-shrouded electronic circuitry before her.

The thing was an old weather beacon modified to work in extreme temperatures. There were dozens of them scattered around the planet to track the unpredictable ice storms that roamed Belsavis' surface during the storm season. The ice storms could wreak havoc with just about any man-made structure, so despite the sturdiness of the Belsavis environmental domes, precautions had to be taken. Otherwise the domes could develop fractures and even breaks, depressurizing the whole thing and exposing the delicate flora inside to lethally cold temperatures. That couldn't happen. It would be bad for business—at least, that's what father always said.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? He was right. She may have only been nineteen cycles old, but she still new the basic tenants of Belsavis economics: if the crop failed, the family would starve for money while they struggled to reseed and rebuild the delicate ecosystem contained in those domes.

Tana started to turn back to the task at hand when something else caught her eye. It appeared like a pillar of fire streaking through the crystal blue sky toward the southern ice plains. She squinted, shading her eyes with one hand so they wouldn't have to focus against that biting wind. Yep, sure enough, it looked to be some sort of meteor burning through the atmosphere.

But that was what puzzled her. This system didn't have an asteroid belt, and cosmic debris was a real rarity. No matter how strange it was, though, she couldn't help but think how interesting a find it would be—that is if it hadn't all burned up in the atmosphere. She cast an indecisive glance at the weather beacon, then back to the meteor. She could spare an hour or two to go check it out. It hadn't landed that far away. Besides, the storm season wasn't for a few more months. The beacon could wait.

With an impish smile, she hurriedly packed up her tools and climbed into her snowspeeder. She started up the dilapidated vehicle as quickly as her cold-numbed fingers would allow and goosed the throttle.

Belsavis' bluish-white landscape seemed to bleed away behind her as the land speeder raced along the thick ice. She had only been traveling for half an hour before she spied a strand of dark black smoke curling up from the direction the asteroid had crashed. But asteroids don't smoke, do they? Whatever the cause, it only made her more eager to get there. She leaned forward in her seat and silently wished the speeder would go faster.

When she finally reached the impact site, her heart jumped into her throat. Instead of a piece of cosmic rock, the still-smoking remains of some kind of starship lay before her. A huge debris-littered furrow had been ripped through the ice and snow when the ship had plowed into the ground. She couldn't believe it was as intact as it was given the evident impact, but there it was.

She popped open the speeder's door and stepped out to get a better look of the ship. Whatever it was, it was evidently a fighter. It was way too small to be anything else. What must have been the cockpit was some kind of sphere, though it didn't look much like that now because it had been hammered and dented into a geometric shape Tana could never have previously imagined. One of its hexagonal wings was still attached, though badly mangled, and a sparking nub was all that remained of its mate. Somehow, the design seemed familiar. A sudden flash of uncharacteristic insight struck her. It was an Imperial starfighter! Tana hadn't noticed it before because it was so beaten up, but that's what it was.

Then, another thought struck her. What about the pilot? Was he still alive? She circled the wreckage, looking for the cockpit canopy. To her dismay, most of the spider-webed glass was face down in the snow, but there appeared to be some sort of egress hatch on the crown of the fighter. She struggled to find a steady perch on the wreckage and reached over to try to jerk the hatch free. It opened up rather easily, and as she looked inside, she found out why. A black-clad figure lay sprawled unmoving against the hull, his thick gloved hands wrapped around the hatch release.

* * *

Venka had seen Captain Ygra fall. When the torpedoes hit, the captain had lurched for his command couch, but the resulting concussion knocked him off balance and flung him headlong into the chair's base. The unforgiving durasteel did quite a number on his head. The 2-1B medical droid said he had multiple skull fractures and there was considerable swelling around his brain. It seemed to believe the Captain would pull through, but almost as a precautionary measure, the droid confided in Venka that medical science was "far from infallible."

As he gazed upon the withered husk of a man floating in the bacta tank before him, Venka began to think of how truly fallible the captain had become. _A few snub fighters won't stop us? Ha! A few snub fighters destroyed the "invincible" Death Star_. He pressed his hands against the glass, feeling the tepid blue glow radiating off the warm liquid. He was in command now, but what about when Ygra healed? The old man clearly wasn't fit to command the _Enforcer_ any longer, but how could Venka convince the other officers of that? His actions had obviously led to the near-destruction of the ship and the loss of half of their fighter compliment. While that was actually only one craft, the loss still hurt their combat effectiveness. Four more crewmen also lost their lives when part of the upper deck was blown away. Their bloated, frozen bodies were still floating somewhere out in space. To make matters worse, the Rebels destroyed the hyper-communication relay satellite before they jumped. With the _Enforcer_'s communication dish down, there was no way they could contact high command before it was repaired.He couldn't allow another catastrophe like this to take place again.

He softly pounded his fist against the glass. Gazing upon the wasted figure slowly bobbing in the bacta, he knew what had to be done. But did he have the strength to do it?

He folded his arms, turning back to the white-armored storm trooper that stood at attention by the door. He leaned back against the glass with a sigh, lowering his chin to his chest in thought. Finally, he looked up to regard the trooper. "Corporal," he said addressing the soldier.

"Yessir?"

Venka licked his lips before replying. "Go ahead and return to your quarters, you're relieved."

"Sir?" he asked in confusion.

Venka raised a hand to wearily massage his temple, "It's been a long day for all of us, Corporal. Get yourself some rest. I can look after the Captain."

"But my Lieutenant said—"

Venka made a dismissive gesture. "My orders supercede your commander's," he said wearily. "Just try to get some rest."

The trooper stood there for a moment as if deciding to follow the order or not, then nodded his assent. He saluted the commander, then strode out the door.

Venka looked back to the bacta tank in a moment of indecisiveness. He gnawed on his lip as looked upon the floating figure, trying to make a decision. He nodded to himself, as he finally made up his mind

"Ah, droid?"

The 2-1B droid whirred into motion from its previously dormant state. It canted its skeletal head in his direction. "Yes sir is there a problem?" it asked in its grating metallic voice. "I have not been alerted any adverse fluctuations in the Captain's health."

Venka shook his head, "No, there is nothing wrong. I was just wondering when you would need to recharge again."

"My next recharge will occur in 11.2 hours. If you do not mind me asking, why do you wish to know, sir?"

"Well, I was just thinking. As long as I am here, you could use the time for a little self-maintenance. I would be sure to revive you if anything comes up."

"I appreciate the offer, sir, but as I'm sure you know, such an activity would be a dereliction of duty. Regulations state that a medical officer or orderly must always be present while a patient is in sick bay."

Venka walked slowly closer to the droid, "But you are the only medically trained unit on board this vessel. When you do have to shut down, there will be no one to attend to sick bay. I'm here now. Why not take advantage of it?" He plastered a friendly smile on his face.

"I can operate for an extended time when provided with a mild recharge, allowing me to keep most of my functions active. You should know that sir."

Venka sighed in almost genuine sorrow. "Droid . . . I had hoped you would be more tractable."

The droid canted its head, managing to convey an expression of confusion despite its lack of facial servos.

Venka plucked a small device from a notch on his belt.

It's eyes seemed to brighten in realization. "Sir! No, I must protest! I—"

He stabbed the button atop the cylindrical deice, and the droid slumped forward, eyes nodes winking out.

_A restraining bolt is a beautiful thing_, Venka thought with smug satisfaction. He allowed a self-satisfied smile as he turned back to the captain's floating body. It would be a simple thing to cause an "accident" to speed up Captain Ygra's demise, but a part of him balked at the prospect of murder. Was that what this would be? Of course it was. He was taking another man's life in cold blood. But what if this particular man's continued existence jeopardized the lives of the whole crew? No man's life was more important than the life of the Empire, his own included.

The hawk-nosed Commander clenched his fist. He knew what he had to do; for the good of the crew and for the good of the Empire, he had to make sure Captain Ygra never recovered. It would be as simple as shutting off the oxygen flow to the submerged patient, yet despite all his rationalization, he could not get past the feeling of revulsion that churned his stomach when he thought about the deed. What if he was caught? Slaying a member of the Imperial Armed Forces was a capital offense. He probably wouldn't survive long enough to get a trial back on Coruscant.

Then something in his mind finally clicked. He thought of all the revolutionary men who had shaped the modern galaxy, who defied the law because they wanted to change the universe for the better. Did the Emperor balk at raising himself up as dictator when the Senate cried foul? No, of course not. He knew what he was doing would lead to a golden age for the galaxy. He knew what he did was for the greater good of all, just like Venka knew his own actions would be for the greater good of his entire crew. He would just have to avoid being caught.

The only things he had to worry about now would be editing the security system and arranging for a timely memory wipe. His actions would be caught on camera no matter what he did. The only recourse was to make some time to erase part of the record. He had the clearances to do so, but he'd need help. That, of course, could be arranged. He was now, after all, the commanding officer. He seriously doubted anyone would discover the logs before he erased them since they were only used in the investigation of some purported crime on board, and that was a rarity. After all, who would commit such an atrocity on board an Imperial warship?

With that thought a sudden pang of guilt struck him. He closed his eyes and willed it away, then stepped forward to the oxygen controls. He hit the switch. First a dull alarm sounded, warning of a "mechanical failure." He ignored it. Then warnings from the equipment monitoring Ygra's life signs rang out. They fell on deaf ears as Venka passively watched the life slowly ebb out of Captain Ygra. In his shattered state, his body didn't even twitch when the life giving oxygen ceased its flow.

After an appropriate amount of time, he turned the oxygen flow back on and picked up his commlink. There was still business to attend to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"I can't believe he's dead," Linia muttered morosely as poked at her unappetizing meal. "I mean, Captain Ygra seemed so full of life. Ever since we undertook this mission he was so full of fire and determination. I can't believe he could expire so easily. The doctor even said he should have pulled through."

Across from her Urtis shrugged and popped a morsel of food into his mouth. "Maybe it was just trying to be optimistic—and anyway, the 'doctor' is a droid, you know. Those things aren't always reliable."

Linia glanced around the officer's mess briefly and then sighed. "And now Tilyer is gone too."

Urtis nodded, patting her hand with his, "Yes, I know. He was a fine pilot. His expertise will be sorely missed. Did they ever say how it happened?"

Linia nodded glumly, "Yes. The battle analysis said his engines were destroyed but his built-up velocity took his ship straight into the planet. Sensors lost contact as it entered the atmosphere, but with the ship's power plant destroyed, he couldn't have survived the descent—if he was even alive to at all. It would have hit the ground at over a over six hundred kilometers per hour."

"How's Gabel doing?"

"Gabel?"

"They were room mates weren't they?"

She shrugged. "Well yes, but he didn't know Tilyer that well. To tell you the truth, no one did. I mean, he mostly kept to himself. It's like he was trying to be that cookie-cutter soldier you see in all the holovids—strong, self-sufficient, loyal, austere. It was like he was trying to live up to that kind of stylized ideal, but never quite pulled it off. He didn't seem any of that. He just seemed . . . distant."

"Some people are just like that," Urtis said noncommittally.

"And now he's gone . . . "

"He was a fighter pilot," Dusat countered. "He risked his neck every time he flew. Those guys live for that kind of thing."

"I know, but still . . . Tilyer and then the Captain . . . it kind of makes you wonder who is going to be next."

* * *

Their conversation gradually wandered to other less depressing subjects, but another mind still lingered on that issue. At the next table, Lieutenant Del'Goren could think of nothing else. His appetite was gone, replaced by a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Del'Goren had really liked Tilyer, even if the kid was annoyingly reserved all the time. He had real talent in a fighter, but not many pilots could go toe to toe with an X-wing and live to tell about it. He could still hear the terror in the young pilot's voice when he left him to fend for himself. He knew if he hadn't been able to take out that one X-wing the _Enforcer_ would have been totally destroyed, but that knowledge didn't do a damn thing lift the cumbersome weight burdening his heart.

And of course, there was the captain. When he first heard the news, he had his reservations. The captain's death seemed all-too sudden. Of course he had been injured, but he was supposed to be recovering. He first pushed away those thoughts as paranoid delusions wrought by battle stress, but hearing Dusat and Taulin discussing it brought it all back again.

Del'Goren didn't know what it was, but he felt something was just _wrong_. He couldn't eat any more. He had to get to the bottom of this, or at least put his fears to rest. He stood resolutely, leaving his tray of half-eaten food behind for the cleaning droid as he headed to the infirmary.

He reached his destination soon enough, and he stepped through the doors of the clinic to find himself in an almost blindingly white room. The smell of antiseptics assaulted his senses, causing his nostrils to tingle as he surveyed the small infirmary. Four empty cots dominated most of the room while a variety of medical implements were arrayed in various shelves and cupboards. At the far end of the room sat the resident 2-1B droid, its skeletal head bowed as it overlooked the controls to the empty bacta tank before it.

Upon Del'Goren's entry it turned toward him. Its hollow eye sockets lit up with a golden light as it canted its head curiously, "Welcome to the infirmary, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

Del'Goren mustered a smile, "Oh, it's nothing of a medical nature. I just wanted to ask you some questions. Can you spare the time?"

The droid nodded obediently. "Of course I can, sir."

The Lieutenant strolled closer, "I was hoping you could tell me about what happened to Captain Ygra."

"Oh, didn't you hear sir? He passed away just yesterday from the injuries he sustained during our encounter with rebel forces."

"No, I mean _how_ did he die?"

"His injuries were simply to grievous to be healed by bacta treatments. I apologize sir, but there was nothing that could have been done."

"He was being treated. You said he would pull through."

The droid attempted to intimate a shrug, "I cannot recall making such a comment sir, but if I ever did, I apologize for my error."

He scowled, "What kind of injuries had he sustained?"

The droid shook its head, "I'm afraid I am not privy to that information."

Del'Goren frowned, "What do you mean you're not privy? You're the one who treated him."

"I'm aware of that sir, but earlier this morning I underwent my scheduled memory wipe. I have no recollection of the previous events beyond second hand information."

A feeling of unease seized upon Del'Goren. "What about medical records?"

"Those have been sealed to all but family and investigating personnel."

"I am conducting an investigation of the matter," Del'Goren said.

Again the droid shook its head, "Only official inquiries directed by military headquarters would be granted such status, and such an undertaking would only be possible once we return to Imperial Center. I'm afraid I can't help you, sir."

"So you're saying all information on Captain Ygra's death is sealed to everyone on the ship?"

"Not everyone. As the ranking officer, Commander Venka would have access to the information."

Del'Goren swore.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part II: The Man with One Eye**

Chapter 9 

Pain. That was the first thing Tilyer thought upon groggily entering into the waking world. It hurt to be alive. Then again it was better than the alternative, he supposed. It took him several moments to work past the stabbing pains shooting through his torso and the dull throbbing that inhabited his left leg, but he managed to crack his eyes open just enough to let a sliver of soft gray light filter in.

He tried to open his eyes fully, but the sudden flood illumination to his light-deprived pupils sent a new wave of pain shooting through his skull. He groaned and clamped his eye-lids shut against the agony. The pain slowly began to fade, and once it had subsided, he tried once more to pry them open, this time a bit slower.

The light was intense this time, but his eyes gradually grew accustomed. Trying to blink away the haze that filled his vision, the only real thing he could make out was the intense spot of light hovering above his head. Everything else beyond that was shrouded in shadow. He tried to raise his head up, but all he could get out of his muscles was a feeble twitch. Then he heard footsteps.

He had decided to try to call for help when a blurry silhouette interposed itself between him and the light. A halo of gold surrounded the shadowed face like the silver lining of a foreboding thunderhead. He tried to twist away as hand descended onto his shoulder, but his body only quaked weakly as the pain in his chest and leg increased tenfold.

"Oh no, you're awake," the figure mumbled. "He's awake!" it called again.

More footsteps, and then there were another set of hands on him holding him in place—not that it mattered. His body wouldn't do anything he told it to anyway.

"I'll give him another sedative," another more gravelly voice said.

He felt a prick in the crook of his arm, and suddenly a surge of fire coursed through his veins. Tilyer tried to protest, to tell them that they couldn't hold him here against his will, but his lips failed him. He wanted to shout out loud, to voice the pain and outrage seething through his mind, but his mouth simply wouldn't work. He could only blink lazily as the drugs took effect, sending him on a spiraling course back into unconscious oblivion.

* * *

"Ah, Lieutenant Dusat," Venka said with the hint of a smile, "come in, come in."

Urtis Dusat stepped further into the small security station to stand at attention before Commander Venka. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease Lieutenant," Venka said as he rose from his chair. "Thank you for coming so promptly. I understand you're off-duty tonight."

"It is my pleasure, Commander," Urtis replied, "though I am curious why you asked me to meet you here instead of the bridge."

Venka's lips peeled back in a predatory smile, "I understand you have extensive experience with computer systems, Lieutenant."

Urtis nodded, "Yes sir, I received a degree in computer programming and application before attending the academy." He paused uncertainly, "Pardon me for asking sir, but what does that have to do with meeting me here?"

"I have a job for you Lieutenant, one that I cannot entrust to just anyone."

Dusat arched his eyebrows, "Oh?"

Venka took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the chair at the security console. Urtis sank into the seat, warily looking up at the Commander. "Sir, what is this about?"

"I need you to erase several archived files from the security data logs."

Urtis was taken aback, "Sir, you know I can't do that. Do you know how many laws and directives I could be breaking?"

"Don't lecture me," Venka snapped. "I'm well aware of the consequences."

The junior officer seemed uncertain.

His voice softened, "I'm not ordering you to do it. I'm asking you, one officer to another—a favor for a favor. You do this for me now, and I will ensure your next promotion, your next duty assignment, whatever you want."

"I don't know sir. It doesn't feel right."

Venka leaned close, "One doesn't go far in the Empire without having friends in high places. You might find yourself in need of one in the near future." A feral smile crept onto his features.

Urtis swallowed, recognizing the veiled threat for what it was. He bit his lip in thought, lowering his eyes from his superior's steely gaze.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll do it. Just show me the files, and I'll get it done."

Venka smiled once more, "Good. I knew you would come around."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Consciousness returned to Tilyer in a haze that gradually lifted like a predawn mist that fades with the rising sun. In fact, a soft golden radiance streamed in from a window across from the hospital bed in which he lay. He was clothed in some sort of hospital gown, yet his bed and sheets were not the same shade of antiseptic white common to clinics and hospitals around the galaxy. The rest of the room too seemed to bask in a robust glow of earthy colors. There was an overstuffed chair in the corner, a pair of real wooden chairs, and even a few holograms hanging on the yellowish walls. There was a strange feeling to the room, as if it was old, yes, but there was something else about it. Tilyer couldn't put his finger on it, but this place certainly didn't feel like any hospital he had ever been in. It just seemed too inviting.

He stirred slightly, testing his ribs that had hurt so painfully the last time. _Better, but still tender_,he finally decided. His left knee, on the other hand, was encased in some weird contraption with a variety of pins and wires coming in and out of it.

Wherever this place was, it wasn't any Imperial hospital. It couldn't be. His mind briefly struggled to recall what had happened before it all came back in a tide of remembrance: the dogfight with the X-wings, then tearing through Belsavis' atmosphere with the ground rushing up to greet him. He vaguely remembered engaging the repulserlifts on the dying craft to slow its descent, and then nothing. If this wasn't an imperial facility, then what happened to the _Enforcer_? If it survived, they would have searched for him. They had to know he was alive . . . unless they were all dead.

Tilyer sighed and closed his eyes. What if he was the last one left alive? What if the captain, Linia, Lieutenant Del'Goren, Gabel, what if they were all dead? What was he supposed to do? He had to get word to fleet command, that's what he had to do. They had to know that rebels were operating out of Belsavis, that they had destroyed the _Enforcer_. He had to get out of here, wherever this was. It could have been a rebel hospital, and maybe they just didn't expect him to wake up so soon. He had to get escape.

He groaned and tried to sit up, but the position of his body coupled with his still-tender ribs, made the actual act considerably harder than the proposition. Finally he managed to lever himself into a sitting position. He was about to examine the device on his knee when the room's only door slid open. Framed in the doorway stood a square-shouldered humanoid dressed in a white lab coat. Thin wispy orange hair wreathed its head and chin, but its gray face was dominated by two pairs of bulbous black eyes and a pair of inwardly pointing tusks that descended over its mouth: an Aqualish.

Its fleshy jowls twitched upward in the Aqualish version of a smile. "Glad to see you've finally awakened, Flight Officer Raan," it said in a gravelly, yet familiar, voice

Tilyer grimaced, fighting down his revulsion at the repulsive alien. He stared at the creature for a long moment before speaking. "I was awake before—And how do you know my name? Just who the hell are you?"

"Well," the Aqualish said, moving out of the doorway, "Your name was on your flight suit—or what was left of it, and my name is Dr. Vorst. As for your first statement, your sedative began to wear off before the treatment was over."

"Treatment? You mean this damn thing on my leg?" he said, gesturing to the device encasing his knee.

"Yes, you were rather banged up after your crash-landing. In all honesty, the treatment is not complete yet, but close enough. I apologize, but we don't have a full bacta tank here, otherwise it would have taken less time. Anyway, you managed to dislocate your shoulder, break two ribs, and tear some ligaments and cartilage in your knee. I set your shoulder, and some bacta injections worked pretty well on your ribs, but that knee is proving quite difficult." He punctuated his remark by tapping the device with a single taloned finger.

Tilyer lay back on his bed, anxious to further the difference between him and the approaching alien.

"You see, bacta may be able to mend bone and flesh quite easily, but when the treatment involves ligaments and tendons, as in your case, the cure is somewhat more tedious. But never fear, within a day or so you will be as good as new." The Aqualish flashed him that unsettling grin once more.

When Tilyer didn't respond immediately, the alien pressed on. "You're quite lucky Tana discovered you when she did. I doubt you would have survived more than a few hours out on the ice plains."

"Tana?

"Oh yes, I'm forgetting my manners. You must feel quite disoriented, given the circumstances."

Tilyer seemed disinclined to respond, so Dr. Vorst pressed on in that annoyingly pleasant voice.

"Tana was the young lady who found you after your ship crashed out on the plains. Your craft was quite a mess, but obviously she managed to drag you back here for medical treatment—I'm sure it's not what you're used to back on your ship, but it is still effective nonetheless."

"Where is 'here,' anyway?" Tilyer asked.

"Well, we tend to call it home, but its official designation is Green X."

"Who else lives here? More ali—err, people like you?"

"If by 'people like me' you mean fellow entrepreneurial colonists, then yes." He smiled, "There are some people you should meet, by the way."

He turned toward the door, "Tana, Oltan, you can come in now."

The two young humans, both male and female, that ventured through the doorway looked somehow related with the same blonde hair, same brown eyes, and same slight build. They even dressed alike with their rugged overalls and tool belts. The man bore an intimidating scowl on his otherwise handsome face as he leaned against the wall, but the girl offered a slight smile as she approached Dr. Vorst's side.

"Allow me to introduce Tana and Oltan Yin'Baara," said the Aqualish doctor.

"Nice to meet you," said Tana with a crooked grin.

Oltan merely nodded stoically.

"Oltan and Tana are the children of the Yin'Baara family, one of the several families that own this plantation. As you know, Tana was the one who found your ship, and Oltan here has been appointed to look after you while you're here."

Oltan gave Tilyer a cold nod, one that made it perfectly clear how he felt about that duty and the man it encompassed.

"So I'm a prisoner here," Tilyer said, more of a statement than a question.

The Aqualish chortled a laugh and made a dismissive gesture, "Good heavens no, it's nothing like that. This may be a civilized colony, but the silk jungles are still quite wild. We can't have you wandering off into who knows what without proper supervision, now can we?"

Tilyer fidgeted uncomfortably. He wasn't very convinced by the explanation, but he wasn't in a position to press the subject. "So how long have I been here? And what about the _Enforcer_? Why haven't you contacted them?"

The Aqualish smiled, "You've been here approximately three days, and as for your ship, which is what I assume the _Enforcer _is, we have been unable to contact it since your arrival."

Tilyer was crestfallen, all his fears confirmed. "So then that's it then. They're all gone . . . "

"On the contrary."

"Huh?"

"It's still up there as far as we can tell, but all communications are down," Tana quickly supplied.

"Yes," Dr. Vorst explained, "The ships you were so embattled with evidently didn't want word getting out about their activities."

Tilyer made a quizzical expression.

"They blasted the planetary communication satellite," Oltan growled. "We can't even get messages to the other domes thanks to your little skirmish."

Vorst nodded sagely, "And evidently your ship sustained some battle damage as well, since it hasn't moved from its orbit since your arrival. They must be trying to effect some kind of repairs."

"So what now? I just wait?"

The doctor shrugged, "So far that seems to be the only course of action left."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tana interjected, "but I really need to get back to work." She flashed Tilyer a smile, "We don't get many visitors out here, so I just wanted to say hi. I'll be back later when I don't have as much stuff to do." She gave him another grin, then slipped through the door and disappeared down the hall.

Dr. Vorst smiled apologetically, or whatever the equivalent was for his species. "I too have other duties I must attend to. If you need anything of a medical nature, there is a commlink mounted on the wall next to your bed you can use to get in contact with me, but otherwise Oltan should be able to see to all of your needs. I will be back to check on you in a few hours. Until then, rest up." He again patted Tilyer's leg and headed out the door.

Oltan sat down in one of the chairs and fixed Tilyer with a wordless stare, as if daring him to say or do anything.

Tilyer just lay back in his bed and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible, but the growing sense of unease fermenting in the back of his mind made that simple comfort an elusive prospect.

* * *

He did it. The conniving, back-stabbing bastard actually did it. There was no doubt in Lieutenant Del'Goren's mind, but there was also no blasted way to prove it. There was no other way to explain it, but there was no irrefutable evidence to link Venka to Captain Ygra's death.

Del'Goren pounded his fist on the console in frustration. He almost didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was sitting right in front of him. In the empty security station, he had accessed the sick bay surveillance recordings to put his suspicions to rest, but what he found only confirmed what he feared. Actually it wasn't what he found; it was the _lack_ of what he found. Two whole minutes of footage from the surveillance recordings of the ship's infirmary were missing from the data logs. Even the backups had been cleanly wiped from the system. It could have easily been passed off as a simple glitch, and no one would have noticed it without knowing exactly what to look for, but there it was. It wouldn't prove anything in a military court, but it proved enough to Del'Goren.

He hit the console again, even though his hand was still smarting from the last time. He had to do something, but he couldn't _prove_ anything other than 2 minutes of footage were missing from the logs and Venka had "coincidentally" been in sickbay with the Captain at the time.

He bent forward, massaging his temples as he tried to figure out what to do. The first thing that came to mind was just putting a blaster to the bastard's head and blowing him away; give him the same chance he gave the captain. But no, that would get him nowhere. He would feel a lot better, but he would only pay the price Venka should have.

No, he would just have to wait. It made his skin crawl to think that Venka would get away with such a heinous crime, that he would get the best of Del'Goren and every decent Imperial officer, but there was no way around it. He would have to bide his time and wait.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Lieutenant Urtis Dusat couldn't sleep. He was restless, and no matter what he did, his mind wouldn't relax—it couldn't. It just kept going back to one instance, replaying that moment over and over again.

If he had just done what Commander Venka asked, none of this would be happening. If he had just followed orders, his conscience wouldn't be rebelling against him this night—as it had done every night since the incident.

He should have just sliced into the system, taken out the files and been done with it. But he didn't. He wanted to know what this was all about. He wanted to know what he was getting himself into. As soon as looked into those security logs, he immediately wished he hadn't. The holocameras clearly depicted Commander Venka deactivating the Captain's life support and watching as the life slowly drained from his body. He murdered him, and now Dusat was complicit in that deed.

_Damn my curiosity_,he shouted inwardly. _Why did I have to look_?

After seeing what Venka was so anxious to cover up, Urtis had been so scared he just deleted it all. He hadn't taken the time to think about how to rectify the situation, how to turn Venka in to the proper authorities without garnering the wrath of his superior officer. He had been fearful that if Venka ever found out that he knew the truth of the Captain's demise, he would be next to die at the hands of the ambitious commander.

But now, what was he supposed to do? He had helped dispose of the evidence—the only evidence that would prove the crime. Now he was as guilty as Venka, and that guilt was consuming him from inside out.

Perhaps he could speak with the commander and reason with him, ask him to turn himself in. Urtis knew deep down, he had to be a good man. He was an officer, after all. But what if that didn't work? There wasn't much else he could do. He would be stuck with only one way out.

* * *

Tilyer took the time to simply bask in the sunlight beaming down within the agricultural dome Green X; simulated sunlight to be sure, but it still felt damn good. He leaned on the railing separating the rest of the compound from the vast silk fields that constituted the bulk of the space in the agro-dome. As a literal jungle of thick vegetation, it stood in direct contrast to the harsh environment outside the dome's protection. Still, it was nice to be in the out-of-doors for once—sort of—and he was doubly glad to be out of that detestable clinic; however, even though his hospital stay was less than enjoyable, he did manage to learn quite a bit about the facility.

While sitting in his hospital bed for the last day or so, he had been subjected to that annoyingly academic Aqualish jabbering on about whatever topic seemed relevant at the time, mostly having to do with what a great technological marvel the agro-domes on Belsavis were. In addition to providing a living habitat for the residents and crops, it was an environmental recreation of the conditions prior to the planet's accelerated ice age, not exact, but close enough. What Dr. Vorst took especial pride in was the fact that the colonists realized that these so-called "silk trees" held a symbiotic relationship with several species in their environment, all of which depended on one another in a rather large chain. He went into great detail about harvesting methods, one he evidently devised himself, but Tilyer did his best to tune him out in those portions.

And all the time, Oltan stood a few meters away with that perpetual scowl on his face. In fact, he still did. If the shorter man's gaze had been made of blaster bolts, Tilyer would have been dead a hundred times over.

Tilyer glanced over his shoulder to where Oltan stood with his arms folded over his chest. "Are you sure you can't take me to your comm station? Maybe you're not using the right channel or hailing frequency."

"For the last time, no," he said angrily. "We've tried every frequency known to sentient life and it still won't work. Thanks to your little skirmish up there, the whole communication grid is down. Now will you shut up about it?"

Tilyer felt like retorting back that he would shut up about it when the people here stopped treating him like a prisoner, but he thought better of it.

"Hey Oltan," came a voice from several meters distant.

Both men turned to find Tana jogging toward them.

"Oltan," she said, coming to a halt, "Da wants you back at silo 2, says there's some kind of machinery malfunction and needs you to help—it seems kind of urgent."

The blonde man cast a side-long glance at Tilyer, then back at Tana. "You know I can't go. I have to keep an eye on him, and I can't take him with me."

She nodded, "Yeah, but Da said it was urgent."

Oltan thought a moment and then sighed. "Okay, but you're going to have to watch him until I get back." He unholstered his blaster pistol and handed it to her.

She smiled, giving Tilyer an appraising glance, "Sure thing."

"Keep a careful eye on him," Oltan warned.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I've got this covered."

"I don't trust him," he insisted.

"Where's he gonna go, huh?"

Oltan grunted grudgingly. He cast a warning glare in Tilyer's direction then headed off in the direction Tana had come.

When her brother had receded into the distance, she turned toward Tilyer stuffing the blaster into a niche on her belt. "Appreciate the change of company?"

"I suppose," he said dully, seating himself on the path's railing and looking off into the silk fields.

An uncomfortable silence ensued before Tana spoke again. "So, um, Doc Vorst fixed you up good, huh?"

Tilyer nodded, "Yes . . . the Aqualish has proven an adequate physician."

"The Aqualish?" Tana said in the slightly escalated tone that, in Tilyer's experience, usually meant he'd said something wrong.

"Um . . . the annoying Aqualish?"

She sighed in exasperation, her former cheer suddenly dissolving. "Is that all you can say about him? You spent four days in his care, and all you can say is he's an annoying alien?" When Tilyer seemed disinclined to respond, she sighed. "I guess Oltan was right about you Imps."

"Right about what? The fact that I know an alien when I see one, and I make my own opinions about their annoying habits?"

Tana scowled indignantly, her mood suddenly souring. "Right about how you can't see past your own bloated sense of self-importance and how you'll abuse anyone to get what you want. At least the rebels are polite."

This time it was Tilyer's turn to scowl, "What do you know about how rebels act?"

"Nothing," she denied rather unconvincingly.

His frown deepened as he turned to study her reddening face. A look of realization dawned on him. "You're in league with them, aren't you? I should have known all along. You're helping the rebels."

"No, of course not. We don't care about any of that."

"Then why were they hiding on the ice plains on _your_ planet? Did they just magically appear there without you knowing?"

"This is ridiculous. We've been trying to help you."

"By keeping me prisoner? Is that how you're helping me?"

"Prisoner? No, you're free to go at any time."

"Oh really? Then why does that brother of yours follow me around every where? Why am I not allowed to go anywhere but the infirmary and this damned road?"

"We're not in league with anyone! We're didn't do anything wrong."

He stood, taking a step toward her. "You knew and you said nothing, putting our whole ship in danger. Hell, for all I know, I'm the only one left, and the _Enforcer_ is just a hulk floating out in space."

"No," she stammered, "You're wrong."

"Then pray tell how you know how 'polite' the rebels are?"

"I don't, ok? Not first hand anyway. They're just stories that filter in through the core about how the rebellion is trying to fight the injustices of the Empire."

"Injustice!" Tilyer fairly roared. "You want to know injustice?"

Tana took a step back, her hand going to the blaster at her waist.

"How about leaving entire freighter crews to starve to death in deep space after plundering every available resource in their possession for the simple act of transporting goods for the legitimate galactic government? How about torturing and maiming captives in order to squeeze every drop of military intelligence out of their shattered bodies before they die? Or, how about this? This one is my favorite. With two measly torpedoes, snuffing out the lives of three hundred, fifty thousand men and women because they just _happened_ to be on a battle station attempting to enforce law and order throughout our galaxy?"

Tana stood in stunned silence. She kept a firm grip on the blaster, but hadn't drawn the weapon yet

"How is _that_ for injustice? Does that pull your heart strings hard enough for you to give a damn about the thousands of people who have died at the hands of those criminals, those bastards that killed my brother?"

"Then what about Alderaan?" she asked defiantly. "The Empire killed millions of people when they destroyed the planet. What about them? Why doesn't your heart ache for _them_?"

"Because," Tilyer retorted, launching into what sounded like a rehearsed tirade, "Alderaan was a rebel stronghold. Their elected representative, Bail Organa, had defied Imperial Law, and by allowing them to remain in power on that world, the populace assented its agreement with those actions. They were all guilty of the same treason, and had to be punished."

"And you have no compassion for those millions and millions of people whose lives were suddenly snuffed out with the flip of a switch?"

Tilyer remained resolutely silent.

Tana shook her head sadly. "Most of them probably just wanted to be left out of it all. They didn't care who ruled the galaxy. They just wanted to be able to live out their lives in peace—like we do."

Tilyer couldn't think of anything to respond with.

Tana sighed and turned around, looking off at the collection of pre-fabricated buildings across the way. "Is your universe so black and white that you can't even consider anyone else's view point? Do you think if you just clench your jaw and ignore the truth, everything will settle neatly back into place in your carefully constructed little world?"

Tana thought she could hear him fidgeting restlessly behind her, but still Tilyer said nothing.

"What, lose your tongue when faced with the truth?"

She heaved a sigh and turned around just in time to see Tilyer vault over the railing separating them from the silk fields and disappear into the foliage.

"Get back here!" she shouted in alarm, "You don't know what you're doing!"

Tilyer's only reply was the distant sound of him crashing through the underbrush.

Tana looked around desperately for help, but could see no one. She swore again then drew her blaster and charged after him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Hey, Urtis. Wait up." Linia Taulin readjusted the stack of data disks in her hands as she tried to quicken her pace down the hallway.

Urtis Dusat paused, turning back to look at her.

She frowned, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the weary expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

He nodded tiredly, "Yeah, I . . . I just haven't gotten a lot of sleep lately."

"For how long?"

He looked away, leaning against one of the hallway's structural supports, "Just of couple nights."

"Maybe you should go to the infirmary and see if the doctor can give you something to help you sleep."

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and for the first time, Linia noticed the haunted look in his eyes. "No. I'm fine," he stated evenly.

"You don't look fine."

"It's nothing," he muttered turning away from her.

Linia looked uncertain, but she didn't press anymore. "Oh . . . okay, well I suppose I'll see you later then?"

He nodded absently and strode off down the hall.

* * *

Tilyer's breath came hot and steady as he charge his way through the silk field. Huge gnarled trees stretched skyward, their limbs intertwining overhead in a dense canopy that seemed to shroud the forest in perpetual shadow. Yet Tilyer nimbly leapt over roots, foliage, and other obstacles as he fled deeper into the jungle. Somehow it reminded him those jogs his squad took during survival training. It thrilled him. Remembering his training, remembering his faith in the glory that was the Empire, he used it as the rock upon which he built his fortress of determination.

If he could lose the girl that had been watching him, then double back, he could perhaps get to the communications building and try to contact the _Enforcer_. Then maybe he could sort through all the lies they had been feeding him. He knew she didn't have a radio on her, and she had promptly followed him into the jungle so she wasn't going for help like she would have it she was smart. He also knew with his military training, he could easily outpace her.

He almost smiled to himself in satisfaction. They had done a superb job of trying to convince him that he wasn't a prisoner, and that he was just a "guest" until communications were reestablished, but he had seen through it. He might have believed it too, had the girl not slipped up. All he had to do now was lose her in the fields, and then he could see about getting off this rock.

He was straining to hear if she was still following him when movement up in the canopy caught his eye. Looking up, he saw too late the enormous multi-legged monstrosity descending over him. Tilyer screamed, trying to throw himself backward away from the horned insect, but he was too late. The beast landed lightly despite its huge girth, but its chitinous abdomen pressed down on Tilyer like a lead weight. Its triangular head bowed down over him as he struggled, mandibles clacking hungrily as its forceps sought to pin him to the ground.

Though bewildered by the creature's sudden appearance, his more primal survival instincts took over. He struggled, beating against the monstrous insect's underbelly, but to no avail. The insect reared its head backward as Tilyer kicked and squirmed. He gave a hoarse cry of desperation.

And then the mandibles stabbed down.

With one last desperate effort, he managed to free himself from beneath the beast's body as the creature's strike found only empty air. He tried to get to his feet, but the thing lurched after him again. Tilyer desperately lashed out with a kick. He hit something solid. The insect squealed in pain. He used that moment to scramble to his feet and stumbled away in his desperate flight away from the creature.

Suddenly he stopped short. Tana stood scant meters away, blaster pistol pointed unwaveringly at his face.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Tilyer thought to snarl defiantly at the bitch standing before him, to tell her that she could kill him, but his death could not diminish the glory that was the Empire. He wanted to face death with a brave face and proclaim his allegiance to the Emperor, to tell her that she and her rebel friends would meet their makers soon enough. He would not be afraid.

But he was. All he could do was stare down the barrel of that blaster. She snarled something at him, but he didn't pay attention. If this was the end, he would do his utmost to die with the bravery fitting of an Imperial soldier.

And then it spoke. He saw the ignition flash, and then that searing hot bolt of energy leapt from the muzzle. Tilyer strove to stay stock still, but in the face of that imminent blast, his resolve broke. He knew it would be too late to avoid the inevitable, but his instinct for self-preservation took over. His knees faltered and he pitched his body forward, raising his arms to defend his face.

But all that time, the ultimate blow never came. Another blaster report sounded, and behind him he heard an animalistic scream.

He turned to see the giant insect that had so recently been trying to make a meal of him. It collapsed to the ground just behind him, twitching uncontrollably with a smoking blaster wound in its skull.

* * *

"Ensign Taulin. I trust you have news?" Standing beside her work station, Commander Venka inclined his head inquisitively at the young officer.

She nodded. "Yes sir. The maintenance crews report that they have been able to repair the _Enforcer'_s short-range communications."

"And the long range communications?"

She shook her head, "Chief Harlow says he can't get it working without replacement parts."

Venka frowned and clasped his hands behind his back. "In that case, contact the locals on the planet and see if they would be willing to furnish the necessary components."

"What if they don't wish to comply, sir?"

"I have more inventive measures in mind to persuade them, should they attempt to shirk their civic duty. Just relay the message and await their response, Ensign." He allowed himself a small smile as he turned away from her station and strode toward the forward view screen.

As Linia set about her task, Urtis Dusat stood up from his station next to her. She gave him a perplexed look, but he hardly seemed to notice as he approached the Commander at the forward bulkhead.

"Sir, may I have a word with you?" He asked softly.

"Certainly," Venka replied, still gazing out at Belsavis' icy sphere.

"In private?"

Venka frowned, turning toward Urtis. "What is this about, Lieutenant?"

He licked his lips before answering. "The captain, sir."

The commander's face froze for an instant, as if trying to decide how to react. "Very well," he said finally. "We can discuss this in my quarters."

Linia was perplexed by the enigmatic conversation, but before she could even attempt to make any sense out of it, Commander Venka turned to her.

"Ensign Taulin, you have the bridge. I shall return shortly."

He didn't even wait for a response as he led Urtis out the door and into the hallway.

Commander Venka motioned for Urtis to be seated as he slid behind the desk in his cramped office. He fixed the junior officer with a cold stare as he folded his arms across his chest. "Did you do as I asked?"

Urtis nodded, "Yes sir."

"Good. Though, I doubt you brought me back here just to tell me that. What is it?"

Urtis kept his eyes averted as he pursed his lips, searching for the right words.

"Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"I . . . I know. I know what happened."

"What?" The words were barely above a whisper, not any where close to the angry outburst he had expected.

"I know about the captain and his . . . his death."

"Why are you telling me this?" Venka asked slowly.

Urtis shook his head, "I don't know, but . . . it's eating me up inside, knowing the truth. It wasn't right, what you did. The Captain didn't deserve that." He spoke haltingly, unsure of himself. "You . . . you need to turn yourself in."

"The Captain nearly destroyed us all," Venka said, steel evident in his tone. He stood, looming over Urtis. "What I did was for the good of this crew—for the good of the Empire."

Urtis shook his head again, refusing to meet the Commander's eyes. "It wasn't right."

"I'm not worried about right and wrong, Lieutenant Dusat. I'm worried about life and death. Captain Ygra's actions put every life on this vessel in jeopardy."

"But you didn't have to kill him!" Urtis protested, raising his voice for the first time.

"Don't you dare try to pass judgment on me, you little whelp," Venka growled, stalking around the desk toward Dusat. "You're just as complicit in this as I am."

"What? No!"

"You deleted the files. You covered up the evidence."

"No," he protested dumbly.

"What do you think would happen if you told High Command about this upon our return? You actually think they would believe you when you have nothing to support your claim but your own word?"

"It's the truth. They'll have to believe it. Someone else has to know."

"Why? What good would it serve? Ygra is dead, and we're better off for it."

"That's not how we do things in the Empire. We're better than that."

"This isn't about morals, Lieutenant. This is about survival. In case you haven't noticed, we have a rebellion on our hands—and it's not as trivial as the Emperor makes it sound. They won't hesitate to kill any one of us on a whim. They're not worried about right and wrong. They're beyond that now. They'll do what is necessary to topple this Empire, and in turn _we_ have to do what is necessary to make sure that does not happen. They have set about destroying the foundations of the very society we have helped create, and we can either be complacent in our ideals, in our morals, in our tactics, or we can meet them head on. The weak have to be culled in order to make room for the strong, or else we will flounder and drown in our own stagnancy." Venka pounded the table for emphasis.

"It just wasn't right," Urtis repeated again.

"I chose you to help me in this because you are one of my best officers. I know you believe in the Empire as much as I do."

Urtis nodded uncertainly, "Of course, sir."

"Then you have to realize that nothing good could come of letting the truth be known. We've taken a step forward in bettering the Empire, but to go back now would send us two steps in the other direction. You're at a cross-roads now, Lieutenant. You can either face forward and embrace what must be done for the future of our Empire, or you can turn away and allow your weakness to undermine the galactic order we have fought so hard to maintain." Commander Venka leaned close, his voice a hoarse whisper. "But which ever route you take, Lieutenant, you must take this secret to your grave."

Urtis looked up at Venka with fear-filled eyes, grasping with full realization the underlying threat inherent in those words.

"You know what has to be done—for our sake and for the Empire's sake," Venka intoned softly. "The question is, will you be man enough to look past your frailties and do what has to be done?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Dr. Vorst bobbed his jowled head, "Well Flight Officer Raan, unlike the last time Tana brought you in here, this time I can happily say you have a clean bill of health."

Seated on the edge of the examination table, Tilyer nodded glumly. "Thank you."

The Aqualish peered down at him with genuine concern. The previously stoic and proud officer now seemed somehow deflated. "You're lucky to be alive, you know. The Belsavan Mantis is quite a voracious predator. It seems that yet again you are indebted to Tana." He gestured to where the young woman stood against the wall giving Tilyer a hard stare.

For a moment Tilyer wanted to rebuke her with a defiant stare of his own, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do so. He just sat silently as Dr. Vorst kept talking.

"I think I told you this previously, but that mantis really is an intriguing component of the silk-farming operation here, though I doubt you were listening. Maybe this experience will teach you to open your ears more, hmm? Anyway, like I told you before many of the life forms on pre-ice age Belsavis existed in a symbiotic relationship, the mantis included. So in order to harvest the silk, it became necessary to include this rather dangerous predator in the ecosystem. As a species, they strongly dislike open terrain, so there is no danger of them ever leaving the silk fields, but for the harvest, their existence becomes a bit more problematic. To curb their involvement, we bathe the fields in a type of insecticide smoke that sends them into a dormant state during which we can harvest the silk. Quite ingenious, if I may say so."

Tilyer didn't respond.

The doctor frowned, "Are you alright?"

He nodded slowly, "I'm just not feeling very energetic at the moment."

"Oh, I suppose such a harrowing experience would leave anyone feeling a bit drained. Well, I'll leave Tana here to keep you company while I check on some other things." He gave Tilyer a pat on the shoulder, and then headed out the door.

Silence ensued for several long moments before Tana finally spoke. "Now do you believe me?"

"I'm sorry," Tilyer managed weakly.

"You're sorry? That's all you can say after I saved your ass for the second time?"

Tilyer opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off with a humorless laugh.

"But then again, should I have expected anything more? Since the time you've been here, all you've done is bitch and complain—not a single word of thanks for pulling your body out of that wreck of a fighter, for nursing you back to health, or even for something as simple as feeding you for a few days. You act as if it's all your right, as if because you wear that precious uniform of yours that the rest of the universe somehow owes you something. But you know what? You're just a man. No, you're not even that. You're a little boy who thinks he's special because he gets to hang out with the playground bully." She took a breathe meaning to continue her tirade, but Tilyer's soft words stopped her.

"You're right."

Tana stopped. "What did you just say?"

"I said you're right, and I'm sorry," he replied. For the first time since the incident, he met her gaze. "I've been a selfish, condescending child, when I should have been eternally grateful. Without you and your people, I'd be frozen somewhere out there on the ice fields or who knows what and . . . well, I'm sorry."

Tana seemed taken aback. "Well . . . you should be."

He wanted to continue, but his voice caught in his throat, and he glanced down once again. He wanted to continue his apology, but the words wouldn't come. All he could think about was staring down the barrel of that blaster, willing into fruition every courageous fiber of his being, and ultimately finding nothing to hold on to but his own cowardice. Even with the grandeur of the Empire with which to found his valor upon, his resolve toppled like a house of cards.

"I'm sorry . . . " he finally repeated.

Tana sighed and hung her head. She was silent for several long moments. Then she moved over to the examination table, boosting herself up onto it next to Tilyer. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but instead she just patted his knee. They sat there for a while, both wanting to say something to break the painful silence, but neither finding the right words.

Finally Tilyer raised his eyes to meet Tana's. Staring into those cool blue opals wasn't like the holovids depicted it. There was no spark of romance born from a harrowing near-death experience. They didn't slowly lean in for a kiss and then madly press their lips and bodies together in a fit of passion. He didn't even feel the urge to. Searching Tana's face, he found no underlying affection, no tender compassion waiting to bloom into full force with but a word. Instead he found simple understanding. And that was enough.

The pair almost jumped as the door suddenly hissed open. Oltan strode through, his face its usual stoic mask. The corners of his mouth quirked in a frown as he saw Tana sitting beside Tilyer, but he quickly redirected his evident distaste to other matters.

"Well, you'll be happy to know we finally got in touch with your ship," he almost spat.

"You did?" Tilyer asked.

Oltan rolled his eyes, "What, you think I'm lying to you?"

"No . . . not at all."

"Well c'mon. The people over in Green VIII have agreed to let you hitch a ride on their transport."

"So . . . I'm going home after all?" Tilyer asked in mild disbelief.

"So long as it's not here, I don't care where the hell you go," Oltan grunted. "Now c'mon. The transport will be here in thirty minutes, and I don't want you hanging around here any long than you have to."

Tilyer nodded and stood. He cast a glance back at Tana and then followed Oltan out.

* * *

Linia keyed the chime on Urtis Dusat's door for the third time. "Come on Urtis, the mess hall closes in fifteen minutes!" she called aloud.

Still no answer.

Tana shook her head, knocking again though she knew it was probably futile. Urtis was supposed to have met her ten minutes before, but she hadn't heard a thing from him since they made agreed to meet for dinner earlier that morning.

She sighed and plucked her comm. link from her belt, calling up the security officer on the bridge. "Lieutenant Milne, this is Ensign Taulin. Do you copy?"

The voice on the other end crackled through, "Yes, I copy."

"Sorry to bother you sir, but do you have any idea where Ensign Dusat is?"

"Not off the top of my head, why?"

"We were supposed to meet 15 minutes ago, and no one's seen him."

"And you called me because?"

"I was hoping you could find out something from the security logs."

The security officer sighed, "You know we're not supposed access that kind of information for something like this."

"I know, but I'm worried."

Lieutenant Milne sighed once more, "Okay, let me see what I can find out, but you owe me."

"Thank you."

A long minute passed before Milne's voice came back over the comm. link. "According to the access codes used, he should still be in his quarters."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be."

Linia was silent as she gnawed her lip.

"Will that be all?" Milne asked impatiently.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Lieutenant Milne cut the connection, and Linia slipped the commlink back into her breast pocket. This was troubling. Urtis wouldn't just blow off a meal without a good reason, and if he was in there he surely would have answered the door. Something had to be wrong, she was sure of it.

She frowned and reached out to hit the door release on the off chance that the door wasn't locked. Too her surprise, the door hissed open at her touch to reveal Dusat's darkened cabin. She peered into the darkness, "Urtis? Are you there?" A slight motion in the gloom caught her eye. "Urtis? Is that you?" She took a step into the room, feeling along the near wall for the light switch. With a slight tap, the glow panels along the ceiling flickered to life.

And then Linia saw what had been moving. Hanging from the ceiling strung up by his own belt, Lieutenant Dusat's blue-faced body swung lazily to and fro, his eyes and mouth open in a silent scream that was somehow louder than mere words could ever be.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Tilyer gazed out the view port from his seat in the copilot's chair of the old _Spacecaster_-class transport. The ship shuddered briefly as it shook off the last vestiges of atmosphere and leapt into the twinkling blackness of space. He was going home. He should have been relieved, should have been happy, but the reality of it was he didn't really know how to feel.

At first, the things Tana had said about him gnawed at his ego like a pack of ravenous womp rats. But after a while, he realized she was right. He had been so caught up with playing the perfect soldier that he couldn't see past the lauded image he had projected over himself in his mind's eye. He was like a selfish child trying to play dress up. He could recognize that. He could deal with it. He could _change_ it. But he couldn't as easily come to terms with the questions she raised about the Empire: his foundation, his rock. She had called into question the groundwork upon which all of his convictions had been based.

He simply didn't know what to believe anymore. The mortar that held together his preconceived notions of the Empire had gradually been chipped away since the very moment he set foot upon the _Enforcer_, but the hatred of the Rebellion still burned like a bright ember at the core of his being. Perhaps his hate stemmed from some propaganda proliferated by the Imperial media to tighten its hold on public opinion, but then again, it could just as well be justified. All the evidence pointed to the latter. One dead brother was proof enough for him at the moment. But whatever the truth was, he would have to sort it out on his own.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see the bearded shuttle pilot looking at him expectantly. Tilyer blinked at him, realizing for the first time that he didn't even know his name.

"You listening?" the man asked.

"What? Um, no. Sorry. I was thinking."

"I said we're five clicks out from your ship. I thought you might want to get your things ready."

"That close already?"

The pilot pointed out the view port. "See for yourself."

Sure enough, the small indistinct form of a Corellian Corvette could be seen floating in a lazy orbit above Belsavis. As they drew closer, Tilyer was able to make out more of the ship. Instead of the crisp manicured lines he had first viewed from his seat upon the shuttle _Corsuca_, the _Enforcer's_ sleek outline was now nothing more than ravaged bulkhead. The whole top side of the vessel had been decimated. The hull was pitted and scarred, and the communications dish that had previously graced its dorsal spine was nonexistent. She still looked like she had seen far better days, to say the least.

The pilot gave a low whistle, "Looks like your boys took a real pounding."

Tilyer nodded slowly but said nothing, lost in his own thoughts.

The navigation console buzzed with directions for the ship's approach, and the pilot brought the vessel around in a smooth loop to the _Enforcer_'s underside, settling onto the auxiliary docking collar with a loud grinding thump.

As Tilyer unbuckled his crash webbing, a thought struck him. His homecoming seemed hauntingly analogous to the first time he set foot upon the vessel. Though everything seemed somehow similar, everything _felt_ different. Scant weeks had gone by since he first laid eyes on the ship, and yet both he and it had changed so much.

"Thank you for all your help." he told the pilot as he rose from his seat.

The man flashed him a smile and grasped his hand in a firm handshake, "Anytime friend. Think of it as a favor." He threw Tilyer a wink. "You'll just have to owe me one."

Tilyer cracked a sad smile and nodded, heading back for the air lock. The magnetic locks disengaged on the hatch overhead and a small ladder slid down as the passage whirred open. The pilot gave one last wave before Tilyer started up the ladder.

Soon he emerged in the same stark white corridors he had found himself in weeks earlier. And again, Commander Venka was there to greet him. Linia Taulin and several other officers Tilyer had seen before flanked the wolfish commander, but Captain Ygra was not in evidence.

"Flight Officer Raan," Venka said in a startlingly pleasant tone, "welcome back."

"Thank you, sir. It's . . . good to be back."

"Very well then," he continued on brusquely, "Debriefing will be in thirty minutes, so shower up, get changed, and report to the debriefing room as soon as you can."

"Yes sir."

Venka turned to go, but a word from Tilyer made him pause. "Ah, sir?"

Venka turned back toward his junior, "Yes, Flight Officer Raan?"

"If I may ask sir, where is the Captain? I expected he'd be here when I returned."

Silence fell over the other officers, as if none of them dared to breath. They looked to Commander Venka with unsure eyes as the older man fixed Tilyer with an even stare.

Tilyer glanced toward Linia, seeking some indication of what he had said that was so reprehensible. He had little time to consider the unease evident in her gaze before Venka's voice called his attention back over to the other officer.

"Yes, I suppose after your prolonged captivity you must be rather ignorant of recent events. To answer your question, Captain Ygra was injured in the Rebel attack on the _Enforcer_ and later died of his wounds. As such, I have assumed command."

Tilyer nodded dumbly as he tried to sort through the mixed feelings of shock and doubt whirling through his mind like a Tatooine sandstorm.

As Tilyer stood dumbstruck by the news, Venka turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. The other officers followed suit, but Linia lingered behind.

"I can't believe it," Tilyer mumbled as she slowly approached him.

"A lot has happened since you were shot down," she said softly.

"Yeah, no kidding." The Captain was dead. That put things in a whole new light as far as Belsavis was concerned.

"No, I mean something else."

"What?"

"Urtis. He—" she faltered a moment. "He's dead."

"He died in the attack?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "afterward."

"How?"

"Tilyer . . . he killed himself."

Tilyer's mind reeled. "What? Why?" he asked in confusion

Linia folded her arms over her chest and shook her head, not wanting to meet his gaze. "I don't know . . . I just don't know. He'd been acting strange—distant even, but I never expected _this_. I never expected to see him swinging from . . . " her voice faltered and she clamped her eyes shut.

Tilyer was so lost in his own thoughts that he said nothing, looking off past her at the bulkhead beyond.

Finally she gave a humorless laugh, "Some soldier I am. One officer dies and I go to pieces."

"Two."

"Huh?"

"The Captain makes two officers dead."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just—"

"Look," he said, cutting her off as gently as he could. "I have a debriefing to get to, and I still need to change. Why don't we talk about this later?"

Linia frowned but nodded, "Oh . . . ok."

"Are you going to be off duty in, say, an hour or so?"

"No, my shift starts soon."

"It's ok. We'll see each other soon enough, I'm sure. I'll talk to you later." Tilyer turned to go, but Linia's voice stopped him.

"Oh, Tilyer."

"Yes?"

"Urtis's funeral is tomorrow."

Tilyer paused, looking back at her. He studied her face for a moment, watching as she looked back at him with pleading eyes. He searched her features for some indication, some clue as to why his death had struck such a cord with her, but only the barest hint of her true grief and doubt could be seen as she forced a façade of professionalism onto her features.

"I'll be there," he finally said. Then he turned away and strode off down the corridor.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The door to Tilyer's quarters slid open with a soft hiss, allowing light from the corridor to stream into the darkened chamber like a sudden dawn rising over a barren world. With his dark form silhouetted in the squared frame of daybreak, Tilyer reached inward, feeling around the wall until he found the light switch. With but a flick, the subsequent flood of light eradicated the darkness, revealing the clean yet spartan room he had grown all-too familiar with in these past few weeks. His bed was still made, his datapads were still sitting upon the desk, and his uniform was still neatly folded upon the bunk, but it was as if he was seeing them in a new light for the first time. Perhaps he had simply been gone for too long and the cramped quarters no longer felt like home, but for some reason, the room—and even the entire ship for that matter—didn't feel the same as when he had first left.

Tilyer sighed and passed through the threshold, tossing his duffle onto the bunk. He stripped off his jacket and began to undress when an object upon his desk caught his eye: a small metallic disk barely the size of his palm. He smiled, his thoughts immediately going to his parents, the one small refuge from the bleak world he had found himself in. Quickly he crossed the short distance to the desk and picked up the projector unit.

He was eager to see them—or see them as he had before; before joining the Empire, before coming aboard the _Enforcer_, before his crash upon Belsavis. In reflection, he supposed that that was the reason for having holos in the first place. They were the one thing that could freeze an image—an emotion—in everlasting time. Memory was a poor substitute because it became tainted with future knowledge, future deeds, and future mistakes. But in holos, the innocence of the moment could be preserved. The Tilyer contained within the small disk he held in his hands didn't have to worry about who the "bad guy" was. That Tilyer knew for sure. That Tilyer was confident that he knew the greatest truth of the universe. He knew who to hate.

But this Tilyer knew nothing. He was awash in a sea of doubt and confusion.

He stabbed desperately at the button upon the side of the disk, almost as if trying to plunge his knife-like finger into the heart of doubt throbbing within his chest. He eagerly watched for the picturesque portrait that would invert itself above the device in his hand, hoping that it would once more come into clear focus and reaffirm the rock his life had been built upon like it had been before, unlike the last time when he had come back from the cold void of space to find his room and his thoughts turned inside out.

This time was different, though not in the way Tilyer had hoped. The device wouldn't even emit a single faded pixel. There was no sound, no soft whine to announce the projector's demise, not even a flash of light as the emitter died. It just ceased to work—if it had even worked correctly at all.

Tilyer gave a distraught sigh and tossed the disk back onto the desk with a hollow clatter.

* * *

"Once again, I'd like to welcome you back to the _Enforcer_, Flight Officer Raan." Commander Venka steepled his fingers and leveled his cool gaze at Tilyer where he sat across the table from him.

Tilyer glanced over to where Linia sat, datapad in hand as she recorded debriefing proceedings. "Thank you sir. It feels good to be back," he lied.

Venka nodded, lifting another datapad from the desk. "I'm sure you know why we're here, so let us get down to business. I would like to start with a full account of your captivity on Belsavis."

Tilyer licked his lips, folding his hands in his lap before beginning. He told him everything, about the crash, about Oltan and Tana, about Dr. Vorst, even about his flight into the silk fields—most of it, anyway.

When he finished, Commander Venka waited for Linia to finish tapping out commands on her datapad before continuing. "You mentioned a discussion with a one," he glanced down at his own pad, "Tana Yin'Bara?"

Tilyer swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump of dread forming in his throat. "Yes sir."

"And this discussion prompted your, ah, flight into the jungle?"

"Well, you could say that, sir."

"What was it she said that agitated you so?"

Tilyer fidgeted uncomfortably. "We had some . . . ideological differences."

"About what?" Venka asked, leaning over the table.

Linia glanced to Tilyer uncertainly.

Tilyer sighed, "About rebels. She said something about how they were 'nicer'" than the Empire."

Venka narrowed his eyes, "That borders on treason. What else did Miss Yin'Bara say?"

He shook his head, "I don't know, nothing else important, but I don't know Commander. The way she said it . . . " Tilyer trailed off, not wanting to say anything else.

Venka was silent a moment before the realization dawned on him. "She knew they were there. She knew about the rebels. They all knew."

"What? No, at least . . . I don't think so. I mean, if they were rebel sympathizers, would they have bothered to rescue me after the crash, or even return me to the _Enforcer_?"

"But they knew about them. They knew about them, and they said _nothing_. Their actions jeopardized the lives of every member of this crew." He stood, shaking his head angrily.

Tilyer was quiet. He wanted to protest, but in a certain way what Venka said was true. "But Sir, they didn't do anything specifically _wrong_ . . ."

Venka paused, leveling his ire-filled gaze at him. "I didn't take you for the stupid type, Flight Officer Raan. It's called criminal negligence, and it most definitely _is_ something wrong. Whether directly or indirectly, they caused the deaths of multiple soldiers of the Imperial Navy."

"What are you going to do?" Tilyer asked uncertainly, the lump forming in his throat now a full-fledged knot.

"What was the name of the settlement that kept you in captivity?"

"Sir, I don't see—"

"The name, Flight Officer Raan," Venka barked, cutting Tilyer off.

He swallowed hard. "Green Ten."

"Very Well. Ensign Taulin, copy down these orders and relay them to the rest of the crew."

Linia punched up a new utility on the pad and looked up to Commander Venka. "I'm ready, Sir."

"As soon as repairs are complete and the _Enforcer_ is fully operational, all hands are to report to battle stations in order to initiate a sustained orbital bombardment upon agro-dome Green Ten."

"For how long Sir?" Linia asked timidly.

"As long as it takes to reduce it to rubble."

"What? Sir, you can't!" Tilyer protested.

"They're criminals, Raan," Venka shot back, "common, back-stabbing criminals who will do anything for their own advantage. I've taken and oath—as have you and every other crewman on this vessel—to protect the Empire from the rabble out there that would ruin our new order for its own gain. What would you have me do? Do you want me to give them a medal for saving you, for caring for an honest soldier as any decent citizen should be expected to do? They have committed a crime against this Empire, Flight Office Raan, and they shall be punished accordingly." He paused as if daring Tilyer to say anything more.

"They just want to be left alone."

"I've made my decision, Flight Officer. Continue with this nonsense and I will throw you in the brig for insubordination."

Tilyer glanced toward Linia, looking for some kind of moral support, but she refused to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. Instead he swallowed—swallowed his pride and his conscience—and nodded obediently.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Commander Venka stood at the makeshift podium erected in the _Enforcer's_ cramped ceremonial chamber. Behind him, the cool blue orb of Belsavis could be seen through the bulkhead windows rotating lazily in its wide orbit around the sun. The door to the airlock at his back was open, shedding a faint red light across the pristine room.

"I thank you all for coming," Commander Venka intoned, letting his gaze pass over the eyes of each of the assembled officers.

To Tilyer, their olive-gray dress uniforms seemed especially sinister in contrast with the pristine white walls around them. Each one of them was almost a carbon copy of the other, like the product of a machine mindlessly stamping out soldiers from a cast-iron mold. Up until a few days ago, he supposed he too could have been counted among them, but the course of recent events had broken the mold into which he had been cast. It was as if he were looking upon the world with new eyes, this world—this Empire—that he had aspired to for so long, and as he gazed upon the casket laid on the deck before him, the only feelings he could conjure up were ones of intense regret and disdain.

"I understand this is a trying time for all of us," Venka continued, "but it is most heartening to see all of you here to pay your last respects to a beloved member of our crew. Lieutenant Urtis Dusat was perhaps one of the most noble and duty-bound men I have ever known. He performed his duty to the utmost of his ability, and my only regret is that his life had to end so soon."

Whatever differences the two officers may have had, Tilyer had to agree with Venka in this regard. He again let his vision drift from the podium to the steel-gray casket at his feet. Dusat was the model officer, the ideal to which Tilyer had aspired. Tilyer had never been able to reach that standard, to actually _be_ the self-sufficient, capable, and charming officer like he had wanted, but Urtis embodied it all. His death was a true shame, almost like the death of innocence in Tilyer's own mind about the nature of his vaunted Empire. What made it worse was the fact that instead of dying from the blaster of some anonymous foe, he had taken his life with his own hand. Something had happened to the man during Tilyer's absence, of that much he was certain. Whatever had shattered Urtis' sense of self-assurance, whatever could have shaken his convictions so gravely, that force must have been powerful indeed. If it could drive so poised a man as Urtis Dusat to suicide, Tilyer shuddered to think what that knowledge would do to him. Part of him wondered if he had already hit upon the truth, but another part of him, a part lodged deep in the back of his mind, told him that his revelations were but the tip of the iceberg.

What made it even more troubling was the fact that the inhabitants of Belsavis would have to pay for it. What would Mikal think of it all? His brother had joined the Empire to make a difference to those who needed it, to be a part of something bigger than he could ever be by himself. But a part of this? Was this the grand cause bigger than the man himself? Tilyer couldn't believe that. If anything, what was happening around him was beneath the memory of his brother—that memory that had spurred him into joining the Empire in the first place. In some ways, he felt as if he was cheapening his brother's memory by blindly clinging to the Empire's lauded image.

Tilyer didn't know who was to blame for the misfortunes that had befallen the _Enforcer_, but he knew for sure that Tana, Oltan, and the rest of the men and women of Belsavis were not. He had to do something to help them, but what?

* * *

"Lieutenant Dusat's death came as a shock to us all," Commander Venka continued, "but I believe I can safely say that it will never be forgotten."

Linia couldn't disagree with him. His death had certainly been a shock, especially since she had been the one to find him. Seeing that pale body slowly swinging back and forth in the darkness, she had to struggle to keep from emptying the contents of her stomach all over the deck; but it wasn't just the sight of the dead that upset her so. It was the knowledge that this corpse had once been a man she called a friend. It was the knowledge that he had expunged his own life while she waited impotently for his arrival in the mess hall. Most of all, it was the knowledge that she should have seen it all coming. Suddenly it all clicked: the evasive attitude, the morose complexion. All the signs had been there before, and she had innocently brushed them off without further thought. Perhaps if she had notified the commander, he could have put him in the infirmary, given him counseling, could have had him do s_omething_ other than wallow in his own depression. It made her sick to her stomach to think that she had the power to do something, and instead she did absolutely nothing.

"His memory will live on in each and every one of you, and in the collective memory of this galactic Empire. We may pause if only for a minute to recognize the passing of our own, but after this moment of reflection has passed, we must take up the sword of war once more. We must continue to struggle against the foes that would seek to topple this glorious Empire, but we must also never forget the fellow soldiers who fell to protect it."

Whatever Venka may have thought, Linia didn't want to remember this day. She didn't want to remember that body swaying in the darkness. She wanted to remember him as he was before, as he was born to be, but she couldn't. The past had irrevocably changed her perceptions of him forever.

Linia averted her eyes from the casket, looking across the room to where Tilyer stood, his jaw clenched staring out the window into space. If Urtis' death had even phased him, the young officer didn't show it. Still, he had changed. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him was different. She just hoped this change wouldn't bring the same end to Tilyer as it had to Urtis.

* * *

Venka gave a heartfelt sigh. "In the face of this great tragedy, I ask that you all remain resolute in our cause and the duties you have sworn to perform. The best way we can honor Lieutenant Dusat's memory is by seeing to our responsibilities—to the defense of this Empire—as he would have done."

Lieutenant Del'Goren stifled a humorless laugh. An officer of the Imperial Navy killed himself, and all Venka could talk about was honor and duty, like the man died in some great cosmic struggle. He tried to play it off like his death meant something, like he spent his life in the name of the Emperor. But he hadn't. Lieutenant Dusat had been slain by tying a belt around his neck and hanging from it until he choked to death. That wasn't honor, and that surely wasn't duty.

Lieutenant Del'Goren only knew Dusat professionally, but the man just didn't fit the profile of a depressively suicidal maniac. He didn't know for sure why the young man killed himself, or if he even did it himself, but he did know that there was more to the story than anyone let on. There was no way to prove it, but Del'Goren had the sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Commander Venka. First he murdered the Captain and now Dusat. The conniving bastard may not have actually done it himself, but he damn sure had a hand in it.

But again, he couldn't prove any of it. It was all just a feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he hadn't survived this long as a TIE fighter pilot by not heeding his instincts. In the future there would be an opportunity to make things right, of that much he was certain. He just had to be patient.

* * *

"Now there is only thing left for us to do in order to put his body, his spirit, and his memory to rest. Thus, I commit this mortal coil to the embrace of the cosmos. May his essence live on in some small measure through this interment in space's timeless walls."

Venka turned and activated the airlock panel. The pall bearers approached Dusat's casket, taking up the steel-gray box and sanctimoniously inserting it into the airlock. They stepped back, and Commander Venka closed the lock once more. A grinding clank sounded through the bulkhead as the outer doors opened and the casket floated forth. The assembled officers turned toward the view port, watching as Lieutenant Dusat's earthly remains drifted into view.

Venka watched with no small measure of regret as the drifting casket silhouetted against the Belsavis' silvery face. Despite all the eloquence of his speech, no words could do justice to the anguish he felt in his heart—anguish over the knowledge that yet another officer of the Imperial navy had died because of him. He hadn't physically strung Dusat up and watched him dangle as the life slowly drained out of him, but he might as well have. The young man was so in love with his idyllic notion of the Empire, that the truth simply shattered him.

In retrospect Venka knew that he should not have involved him, but he also knew that he could not have dismissed the incident with Captain Ygra without Dusat's help. It had to be done, he told himself. Dusat's death was regrettable, but if it meant that an able bodied leader would remain at the helm of the _Enforcer_, then so be it. In times of war, sacrifices had to be made. The Empire could not afford to conduct its affairs as it always had. It could not remain a stagnant nation if it expected to survive the Rebellion. Their way of doing things had to change with the times, and Venka had to change with it.

The deaths of the fallen were regrettable, but their sacrifices would soon be made worthwhile. He would root out the rebellious elements still hiding on Belsavis and ensure that this derelict world never rise up against the Emperor again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part III: The King with Two**

**Chapter 18**

Tilyer hit the door release to his cabin. The door hissed open to reveal the well-lit hallway beyond. Standing in the threshold, Linia looked up at him with a perplexed expression. "Ok Tilyer, what is this about?"

Tilyer cast a glance down the hallway before grabbing her wrist and tugging her into the room as the door hissed closed behind her.

Gabel looked up from the datapad he was reading in his bun. A concerned frown crossed his features.

"Tilyer, what the hell is this about?" Linia asked, turning to face him.

"I need to talk to you—to both of you," he said looking over to Gabel.

The big man laid aside the datapad and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. "Alright, so talk."

Linia frowned and folded her arms across her chest, but nodded for Tilyer to go on.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he found a seat at the desk, turning to face the others. "Okay, I don't really know how to start this, so I'm just going to say it. This orbital bombardment on Belsavis Commander Venka is planning . . . "

"What about it?" Linia asked.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "It's . . . it's just not right. I mean . . . "

"How can you know that?" she asked uncertainly. "What if Venka was right? What if they were just trying to dupe you and get you to defect?"

"I _know_ okay? They saved me Linia—twice. If not for them, I'd be stone dead somewhere down on the ice plains. They aren't rebels. They just want to be left out of all of this mess to live their lives. Venka can't see that—he _won't_ see that."

"Tilyer, I understand. I sympathize even. But you've said all of this before."

He shook his head, "No, I haven't—I mean, not all of it. I—I have to do something. I can't just let it happen." He looked up to Gabel, then glanced to Linia, "I need your help—both of you."

Linia narrowed her eyes, "What kind of help? Tilyer, what are you planning?"

He sighed, "I don't know—at least not yet. I haven't thought it all through, but I have a rough idea."

"And that is?"

Tilyer was silent a moment before speaking. "We have to blow up the ship."

"What!" Gabel shouted.

"Tilyer," Linia said in disbelief, "what are you thinking? Have you lost your mind? Even talking about something like that is treason!"

"I know it sounds drastic, but it's the only way."

"If the _Enforcer_ goes down out here, it will cause even more trouble. The Empire isn't just going to turn a blind eye to the loss of a capital starship."

"Not necessarily," Tilyer replied slowly. "Linia, how long will it be until the long range communications are operational again?"

"Three or four days I guess."

"As long as they're still undergoing repairs, Commander Venka can't let High Command know what has happened out here. If the ship goes down, there won't be any way to transmit a message back to the core."

Gable shook his head, pressing his hands to his temples. "Tilyer, do you realize what you're suggesting? Overlooking the fact that you want to blow up an Imperial ship, what about the crew? There are almost a hundred people on this ship. You want to kill all of them to save your friends down on that damn planet?"

"No, of course not. If we play our cards right, no one has to die."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Linia asked incredulously.

"You're scheduled for the night watch on the bridge tomorrow, right?"

"Well yeah, but I don't see how that has anything to do with—"

"Okay, good."

"Tilyer, what are you getting at?"

The young officer ignored her, "And Gabel, as a technician, you have clearance into the engine room, right?"

"Well, yeah," he replied, "but only for emergencies. I never go there. I'm assigned to the fighter bay, you know that."

"Yes, but you have access, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay, well hear me out. Here is what I'm thinking. What if we were able to overload the ship's reactor? If Linia has the bridge, she could play down the warnings and then when the time is right, issue a call to abandon ship. No one would be the wiser, all of the crew would be able to get out, and all evidence of our tampering would be destroyed in the blast. It's almost perfect."

"Didn't I see something like that in a holofilm once?" Gabel asked uncertainly.

"No, of course not—at least, I don't think so . . . but I do think this has a real chance of succeeding. What do you guys think?"

"I think you're crazy," Gabel muttered.

"Tilyer," Linia began, "Just for a minute, let's say that what you're planning actually works—that we destroy the ship and everybody onboard survives. How will that solve anything? When a cruiser comes by looking for survivors, they will just pick up where we left off and the people on Belsavis will be facing an even bigger threat."

"So far, you, Gabel, me, and Venka are the only ones who know about the planned bombardment, right?"

"Well, yeah. The order isn't supposed to go out until the repairs are complete."

"So then if you two are with me, that just leaves one person we have to make sure never finds his way off the ship."

Gabel shook his head vehemently. "No. No way. I know what you're suggesting, and I want no part in it."

"Gabel's right," Linia said. "Do I have to remind you again that even talking about all of this is treason?"

"You think I haven't thought about that?" Tilyer stood, folding his arms over his chest. "Believe me, I know what is at stake here better than anybody, and that's why it has to be done."

"You're talking about killing a superior officer!" Gabel practically shouted.

"Not to mention blowing up an entire ship," Linia added.

"If one death can negate the deaths of hundreds," Tilyer replied, spreading his arms beseechingly, "why not take the opportunity."

"Because it's wrong, Tilyer. It's dead wrong." All of the former humor was gone from Gabel's features, replaced instead by a glower that creased his face in deep furrows as he stared at Tilyer.

"So what then? You want me to just sit by and let all those people die—all those people I owe my _life_ to?"

Gabel struggled in search of words.

"Yes, Gabel, I agree with you. What I'm talking about is wrong. It's beyond wrong. It is against the code that we have all sworn to uphold. I know that. I understand that. But it would be pure _evil_ if we sat by—when we had the power to stop this—and did _nothing_. Could you live with yourself knowing that you had the chance to save those people, to change the course of their lives for the better, and instead you just sat on your hands and watched them die? I sure as hell know that _I _couldn't. Could you, Linia?"

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair wearily. "No," she said in a small voice.

Tilyer looked over to Gabel. "Could you?"

For a moment he stared straight at Tilyer.

"Well, could you?" he repeated.

Gabel bowed his head in shame. "No."

"So then you'll help?"

"Yes," Linia said softly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Gabel just nodded weakly and bent forward to cradle his head in his hands.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"This is a horrible idea," Gabel grumbled as he punched in the door code. He looked up at Tilyer as if he wanted to say something more but shook his head, turning back toward the door lock. He hit the last digit and stood back as the blast doors hissed open.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Gabel whispered under his breath.

"So do I."

Tilyer didn't give the larger man a chance to respond as he stepped through the doorway and into the engine room. Inside, the din of thrumming engines reverberated around the compartment, filling the whole room with a low rumbling vibration that Tilyer could feel pulsating in his chest. The lights overhead cast a continual shade of red over the normally pristine white bulkhead, and the air laden with the smell of disinfectant left an uncomfortable tingling sensation on the inside of his nostrils.

He turned to the side, making his way over to the engineering station beside the door. The engineer on duty turned toward him, an obvious frown upon his face. "Hey, what are you doing here? You don't have clearance."

"We need an engineer up on the bridge. Are you the only one on duty?"

"Well of course," the engineer said in confusion, "but I don't understand. Why wasn't I informed that there was any emergency?""

"Check your console. The information should be there."

The engineer shook his head as he turned in his chair toward the console. He hit the communications tab, squinting down at the display. "No, I don't see it. You—"

He stopped mid sentence as the stun bolt from Tilyer's blaster caught him in the back of the head. He went limp, slumping forward over the console as consciousness fled his body.

Tilyer holstered the blaster and plucked his commlink from his breast pocket. "Okay Gabel," he said into the device, "It's done. Get in here."

The large technician moved into the engine room, casting a worried glance around the chamber before moving to the engineering station.

Tilyer moved the unconscious engineer from his seat and sprawled him on the floor, then gestured for Gabel to take his place. "Have a seat."

Gabel gave the engineer a sad look but dutifully slipped into the chair.

"Okay," Tilyer said, coming up behind the larger man to rest his hands on his shoulders, "you know what to do, right?"

"Well, I think so. I mean, I looked at the schematics and all, but I'm not sure about this . . . "

"You'll do fine Gabel," Tilyer reassured him. "Now, are we ready to do this?"

Gabel sighed and nodded, "Yeah."

"Good." Tilyer picked up his commlink once more and cycled through to the proper channel. "Linia, you there?"

Her voice cracked through, "I read you."

"We're in position here. It's your turn."

"Understood," she said evenly. There was a click, and then the connection went dead.

* * *

Linia lowered the commlink and took a steadying breath, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"What was that about?"

Linia opened her eyes and looked down several stations to where Ensign Curtis Luwall sat regarding her curiously.

She blinked a several times as if trying to focus her eyes. "Just the engine room checking in."

"You don't look so hot. You okay?" he asked with genuine concern.

Linia nodded, forcing a tired smile onto her face. "Yeah, I'm alright. I'm just tired." She stood, placing her commlink onto the console before her. "I'm going to go get a cup of caf. Can you hold things down here until I get back?"

The young officer nodded and gave her a wink, "Sure thing Linia. Take your time."

She nodded her thanks and turned, moving out the door and past the storm trooper stationed there. Once out in the hallway, she quickly crossed the short distance to the officer's lounge and hit the door release.

As expected, it was deserted at this time of night, but that was what she had been counting on. She approached the counter, but instead of accessing the caf brewer, she stooped, opening one of the lower cabinets. She reached past napkins, disposable plates, and a box of unused condiments until her hand touched upon the weapon Tilyer had hidden away the previous day.

As a bridge crewman, Linia wasn't cleared to bear a sidearm while on duty. As a pilot, however, Tilyer had access to the pilots' weapons lockers for use in case of a crash landing. Still, the locker was kept under lock and key for security reasons, but Tilyer had found another source. The impounded munitions the _Enforcer_ had picked up in orbit around Malastare provided a good alternative. She didn't know how, and perhaps she was better off not knowing, but somehow he had been able to procure the weapon without anyone catching on. A momentary pang of doubt gripped her as her fist closed around the cold black metal, but she forced it down and headed out the door, hurrying back to the bridge.

As the bridge door opened once more, the stormtrooper stationed there didn't even move. He kept his eyes face-forward locked in his rigid pose even as Linia quietly stepped up behind him. She fluidly raised the blaster pistol in her hand and pressed it into the crease between the soldier's helmet and breast piece. Before he could move, she pulled the trigger. The azure burst of energy lanced into the base of his skull, and the trooper's body clattered to the ground like dead fish.

Ensign Luwall shot to his feet, looking back to where Linia stood, smoking blaster in hand. "What the—"

She cut him off with another blast aimed in his direction. Somehow he managed to dive to the side, and the wave of blue energy coursed by him, blasting into one of the bridge consoles. A shower of sparks from the ruined console cascaded over him as he foundered on the deck, knocking over several chairs in his frantic scramble for the master alarm. Linia strode forward, squeezing off two more shots at her fellow officer. The first blast caught him in the legs, pitching him forward onto the deck. He started to doggedly claw his way forward, but the second blast caught him full in the chest. His body shuddered and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he finally fell limp on the deck.

Linia took a shuddering breath as she calmly stepped over her fallen comrade and rightened the chair at her console. She cast one more glance at Luwall's unconscious body before picking up the commlink again. "Linia here," she said quietly. "Situation under control on my end."

It was a second or two before Tilyer's voice came back over the other side. "Understood. Initiating phase two. Stand by for further instructions."

od. Initiating phase two. Stand by for further instructions."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Alright, so tell me what to do," Tilyer said, casting a worried glance back at the blast door.

Gabel sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Well, if I've read the schematics right, you're going to have to go back into the engine access ports and manually increase the drive output to the point of meltdown."

"Why can't you do that from here?"

"The computer won't let me. It works as a failsafe. If I initiate any action that would cause a meltdown, it automatically countermands the order."

"Alright," Tilyer said slowly, "so how do I increase the drive output?"

"In the access port, there should be three levers. Push each of them all the way up—but you'll have to do it for each individual engine."

Tilyer nodded, clipping the commlink to his breast pocket. "Are you coming with me?"

Gabel shook his head, looking away from Tilyer and back toward the console. "No, I have to monitor things here to make sure the meltdown proceeds slowly enough to give the crew time to abandon ship."

"Alright, then just keep your eyes open. Tell me if anything happens."

"Sure thing."

Tilyer nodded and then turned, heading off deeper into the engine room.

* * *

Tilyer took a deep breath and wiped away the sweat draining into his eyes. He reached down, gently easing the third lever on the console into the upright position. "Okay Gabel," he said into his commlink, "That's the fifth one. You getting any reaction on your end?"

Only silence answered his call.

"Gabel, you there?" he asked again.

Still nothing.

He frowned, wondering worriedly why Gabel hadn't answered the comm.. The big man had given no indication of anything being wrong before, but his absence was making Tilyer decidedly uneasy. Perhaps ambient radiation off of the engines was interfering with the transmission.

He grunted and began to shimmy his way back down the cramped access hatch and slipped into the corridor beyond. As his booted feet hit the catwalk below him, he immediately began to look around the three-tiered engineering corridor or any sign of Gabel. The three story tall room was set up with a trio catwalks positioned before the three rows of engine emplacements on the _Enforcer_. Standing on the second tier, he could peer over into the small diagnostic area below, but he couldn't see Gable anywhere.

Breathing heavily, Tilyer keyed the commlink again. "Gabel, you there now?"

Again, no response was forthcoming.

"Damn," he swore, casting a worried glance up and down the room.

Tilyer pricked his ears, listening intently. He couldn't be sure given the sound of the engines thrumming all around him, but he thought he heard the sound of booted feet on the deck plating below. He leaned over the railing, peering down to where the engineering corridor beyond attached to the rest of the engine room as his hand nervously slipped around his blaster.

Suddenly a bolt of amber energy lanced from corridor below, splashing in a wave of ruby light just above Tilyer's head.

"Shit!" he shouted, returning fire at the white-clad figure that emerged from the gloom of the hallway. The blue stun bolt spread out, impacting along the walls as the trooper pulled back.

Down below, Tilyer could hear him talking. "I've got contact!"

Tilyer swore and began to desperately look for a way out. He soon realized, however, that there was no other way out except through the corridor below that was quickly filling with storm troopers. He bit his lip as a moment of indecisiveness took hold, but he forcefully thrust it away. He still had a job to do if he wanted to save the people of Belsavis.

He whirled around on the catwalk, triggering another blast at the doorway as he ran for the next access hatch, boots pounding on the grating beneath his feet. No sooner had he reached the second hatch than a flurry of blaster bolts erupted from below. He hunched forward, covering his head with his arms in an attempt to weather the barrage. Crimson blaster bolts splashed off of the bulkhead and catwalk around him, but thankfully none of them hit.

He straightened up, preparing to offer return fire when the catwalk suddenly lurched. The carbon-scored struts on one end of the walk snapped, and the whole thing canted downward to slam into the catwalk below with a horrendous clang.

Tilyer lost his footing and pitched forward down the slanting walk. He frantically flailed for the railing but his hands couldn't find a purchase. He let out a scream and tumbled down the ramp. His shoulder hit the ledge below, sending a fierce jolt of pain coursing through his arm and into his chest. He gasped, squeezing his eyes closed against the agony as his fingers went limp and the pistol in his hand clattered to the deck.

He forced his eyes open against the pain, watching in horror as a trio of white armored troopers slowly advanced upon him with blasters pointed in his direction. "We've got him," one of them said into his commlink. "He's not going anywhere. We're clear."

Tilyer watched as four more figures appeared at the mouth of the hallway. Flanked by a pair of storm troopers, Venka folded his arms over his chest, regarding Tilyer with an icy gaze.

"I never would have picked you for a traitor, Flight Officer Raan. I suppose we are just fortunate that one member of your little band actually has a conscience."

The deck grating pushed painfully into the side of his face, but even so Tilyer managed a look of confusion before Venka stepped aside and revealed the one person still left lurking in the hallway.

Gabel glanced away, unable to look Tilyer in the eye. "Sorry Tilyer . . ." he mumbled, bowing his head in shame.

"What do you want us to do with him?" one of the storm troopers asked.

"Take him to the brig," Venka said sharply, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.

The storm trooper turned back toward Tilyer, shouldering his blaster rifle. Without word or sentiment, clamped down on the trigger. Waves of blue energy coursed over him, lighting every nerve in his body on fire. Thankfully the agony was short lived, and Tilyer's world soon dissolved into darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Hey, you awake?"

Tilyer groaned as vestiges of the waking world began to filter through the haze of unconsciousness. His body felt as if it had been worked over with a sledge hammer. Every bit of him was sore, most of all his shoulder. He momentarily wondered what had happened to reduce him to this sorry state, but the events of the recent days came flooding back in a tide of memory that left a pervading taint of despair over his heart.

"Tilyer, answer me."

He painfully cracked his eye open, blinking against the harsh light overhead as the world reasserted itself over his vision. Linia's face hovered over his, a mix of concern and annoyance evident upon her features.

"What the hell happened?" he groaned, weakly easing himself in an upright position. He blinked several times again, looking around the harshly lit room. He was sitting upon a hard bunk mounted into the slate-gray wall with Linia standing over him, her hands on her hips.

Her hair was in disarray and a deep purple bruise had started to develop over one of her cheek bones. She let her arms drop to her sides as she gave an exasperated sigh. "We got caught, that's what happened."

"Damn," he swore, raising his hands to rub his face wearily. As soon as he moved his left shoulder, however, a twinge of pain shot through his arm and into his chest. "Ugh," he grunted, giving up on the motion as he held onto his wounded shoulder with the other arm.

"You dislocated your shoulder," Linia informed him. "I reset it as best I could, but it'll be sore for a day or two." She gave him a weak smile, "I guess basic was good for something after all."

Her mild humor was lost on Tilyer as he looked around the painfully bright room. He sat silently a moment before turning to look Linia dead in the eyes. "Gabel sold us out, didn't he?"

She lowered her eyes and nodded. "Looks that way."

"So what happened with you?"

She sighed, "They sent a storm trooper detachment to the bridge. I couldn't fight them all off."

"Yeah, same for me."

"So what now?" she asked, struggling to keep the fear from her voice.

"Well, as soon as he hears we're both awake, Venka will probably come down here to see us. He'll gloat and call us traitors and inform us of a pending court marshal. The only real question I have is whether or not he'll wait until we get back to Coruscant to execute us."

She simply nodded acceptingly and looked away at the blank bulkhead.

"Ok, look. I'm sorry for getting you into this," Tilyer blurted out. "It seemed like it would work at the time, but—"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "Don't worry about it Tilyer."

"But—"

"Shut up about it," she suddenly snapped. "It was my decision—my choice. You didn't get me into this. I did."

"Still," he said quietly, "I feel like this is all my fault."

"Partly, yeah I guess it is, but I signed up for it. You didn't twist my arm."

Tilyer didn't reply, lowering his chin to his chest and fixing his gaze upon the far wall.

Linia remained standing for a moment, her arms folded over her chest. Then she sighed and lowered herself down into the seat next to Tilyer. "Alright, so in retrospect it wasn't the best plan."

He looked up at her. "The plan was fine. It was just the people involved."

"Gabel."

"Yeah, him," he grunted distastefully. "I wouldn't have thought he'd be the type to turn his back on us like that. I though he was more . . . " He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Weak-willed?"

"What? No, I didn't mean it like that."

"But that's the gist of what you were saying. Face it Tilyer, you couldn't control him like you thought you could."

"Linia, he betrayed us."

"Yes, in a certain sense I guess he did, but maybe staying true to you would have been an even bigger betrayal."

The look on his face told her that he didn't follow.

She twisted in her seat to face him. "You were right about Gabel—at least partly. He's a follower in every sense word, at least from what I've seen. He truly believes in the Empire. Maybe he's just naïve, or maybe he actually buys the lines Venka and the rest cram down our throats every day. Whatever the reason, he believes in the _idea_ of the Empire—Like _you_ used to. Like I used to before all of this happened. Maybe to him, going along with us would be an even bigger betrayal than what he's already done. It would mean betraying the foundations his life and beliefs have been built upon."

Tilyer was silent a moment before responding. "You've thought about this a lot haven't you?"

"It's all I've been thinking about for a while," she admitted quietly. "There's not been much else to do since we were captured."

Tilyer just nodded quietly. He was silent a moment before looking up at her again. "What do you think your family will say?"

"What family?" she asked wryly.

"Oh. I forgot about your father," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't make a difference now, anyway. What about your family though?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be mortified, but after what happened to Mikal they were prepared for the worst with me." He gave a humorless laugh, "Or is _this_ the worst? I don't know which they would prefer—death in combat, or execution as a traitor."

"I don't really see how it matters."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It all ends the same way."

Another awkward silence ensued.

"So, any ideas what to do now?" she asked

He shrugged, "Wait for Venka to come by and gloat, I guess. Other than that, I don't think there's much else we can do."

From outside there was a loud reverberating clank.

"Well speak of the devil," Tilyer muttered. "He doesn't waste any time, does he?"

With the magnetic lock disengaged, the door to the cell hissed open to reveal the figure standing on the other side. The dark skinned man ducked under the threshold and stepped into the cell, lights glinting off of his bald pate as he straightened to his full height.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren?" Tilyer gaped briefly before hastening to stand at attention. Beside him, Linia did likewise.

"At ease, at ease. You're in the brig, Flight Officer. Showing deference to rank is the least of your worries right now"

"Old habits, I guess Sir. We, ah, weren't really expecting you."

"Thought Commander Venka would pay you a visit, 'eh?"

"Something like that—I didn't really think he would trust anyone else to see to the gloating."

"Well, he wouldn't. That's why he sent along a chaperone." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where a stormtrooper stood out in the hallway.

"Well, I'm sorry for being so forward sir, but . . . what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see for myself—and to ask you why."

Tilyer gave a disheartened sigh. "Does it matter? Either way, we're going to be executed."

Del'Goren sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Yes. To me it does."

Tilyer sighed again. "Have you heard about what Venka is planning?"

The Lieutenant nodded. "The orbital bombardment. I heard something about that."

"Then you should know why. Those people down there had nothing to do with whatever else has been going on down on Belsavis. Commander Venka is going to destroy them for no other reason than his misguided sense of justice. It should be our duty to _protect_ those people, not destroy them. He wants to blast them to pieces on grounds of hearsay and conjecture. I couldn't let him do that—_we_ couldn't let him do that," he said, looking meaningfully to Linia. "Anyway, I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Believe me, I do," Lieutenant Del'Goren muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind," he said dismissively. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you to be on your guard. Officially Venka doesn't have the authority to conduct a court-martial onboard, but I wouldn't put anything by him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Linia asked.

Del'Goren shrugged mysteriously, "If something happens, just be ready. I have to get back to my post, though. You two take care of yourselves. "He gave them a meaningful glance, then turned and headed back out the doorway.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The whirr of machinery filled the _Enforcer's _cramped fighter bay with a mind-numbing din as technicians busily worked on the TIE fighter suspended overhead.Lieutenant Del'Goren stood next to the bay's fuel depot, a collection of pumps and storage containers used to house fuel for the ship's fighters. With a slim pack slung over one shoulder, he leaned casually against the wall behind him, observing the workers on the catwalks overhead as they cracked open the star fighter's ion engine housing. He watched without even a hint of surprise as something sparked within the fighter's innards. The technicians stumbled back a few steps, exchanging worried glances amongst each other. Then another spark flashed, and suddenly an explosion belched forth from the TIE's engine compartment, sending the mechanics fleeing along the catwalks.

The men on the floor scattered as falling debris began to rain over the center of the bay. The men above bolted for the emergency lifts as another explosion ripped through the fighter. The burgeoning flames consumed the TIE, tearing through catwalks and girders with equal hunger.

Del'Goren calmly turned to the wall behind him and pulled the fire alarm located there. Klaxons wailed as red emergency lights began to flash. He glanced around as one of the crewmen on the floor started for the fire fighting station positioned to the rear of the bay. He called out to the man, waving for him to stop.

"There's no time!" Let the ship's countermeasures deal with it. We've got to get everyone out of here!"

The technician coughed against the cloud of soot and smoke expanding across the bay but nodded and headed for the bay blast doors, calling other to do the same as he went.

Del'Goren turned to follow, delving into his pack as he went to withdraw a silvery sphere about the size of his fist. As he trotted past the fuel depot, he lobbed it to the side where it rolled to a stop amid the various fuel pumps.

The Lieutenant picked up his pace, following the last few crewmen as they ducked through the bay blast doors. A technician on the other side punched the controls, and the heavy durasteel door ground shut behind them.

Del'Goren looked around at the panting men. "What the hell happened?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"I don't know," said one of them, shaking his head in disbelief. "We were just about to recalibrate the ionization signatures when something sparked. I don't know what it was, but it must have set off the fuel tanks to cause an explosion that big."

Del'Goren made the pretense of swearing. "Does the bridge know about it yet?"

"I'm sure they felt the explosion."

"Well get on the commlink and tell let them know that everyone has evacuated already. The best way to put out the fire is going to be to depressurize the bay."

"Yes sir"

"You men stay here. I'm going to the bridge to find Commander Venka to see if we can sort out what happened." He then turned jogged off down the hall.

* * *

Commander Venka frowned, leaning on the bridge command chair for support as a slight shudder ran through the _Enforcer_'_s _deck. "What was that?" he demanded, turning to one of the bridge crewman.

The man concentrated at his console for several moments before looking back up at Venka. "There's been an accident in the fighter bay, some kind of fire." He paused, listening intently to the commlink at his ear. "The crew has already evacuated. Lieutenant Del'Goren says the best way to put it out would be to vent the atmosphere and deprive the fire of oxygen."

"Del'Goren?"

"Yes sir, that's what they said."

"Alright, do it."

The crewman nodded and bent over his console.

* * *

The turbolift door hissed open, and Lieutenant Del'Goren stepped out into the hallway. His footfalls echoed off of the deck plating as he strode toward the door at the end of the short hallway. With the touch of a button, the door slid open and the Lieutenant stepped through.

The small circular room was occupied in the middle by a large desk console. Security cameras and other devices studded various portions of the wall, and a short corridor ran down the rear of the room to a quartet of closed cells. Del'Goren moved forward toward the security officer seated at the console, shifting the pack around to his front as he went.

The man frowned as he approached. "Lieutenant Del'Goren? What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to talk to the prisoners again,"

The other man shifted uneasily, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that. Commander Venka has told me to admit no one but himself."

"That's alright. I'll let myself in."

Before he could respond, Del'Goren pulled a blaster pistol from his backpack and leveled it at the guard. There was a momentary pause as the guard contemplated what to do. Then he suddenly lunged for the emergency call button on his console. Del'Goren clamped down on the trigger.

The blaster flashed, and the security guard fell forward lifelessly against the console. Del'Goren turned, blasting the security cameras along the walls as well before he circled around the console and hauled the dead man's body off of the controls that were beeping incessantly for his attention.

He examined the computer, swearing as he realized the dead man had managed to hit the alarm switch before the blaster bolt got him. He hurriedly punched in the commands to silence it, but he knew it wasn't fast enough. Swearing again, he turned and ran into the detention corridor.

He quickly found the right cell and hit the door release. Inside, Tilyer and Linia started as the door slid open, staring in disbelief at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren?" Tilyer stammered, "What are you doing here?"

"You can ask questions later," Del'Goren shot back. "We've got to move. Here." He reached into his pack and tossed a blaster to Tilyer.

Linia and Tilyer exchanged looks.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He didn't wait for a response as he turned and strode back down the corridor.

With nothing else to do, Tilyer and Linia followed him into the detention foyer. Tilyer's eyes widened as he caught sight of the guard sprawled along the floor and blaster wound in his side.

"You killed him?"

"What did you expect me to do?" Del'Goren asked sarcastically as he knelt by the dead guard and slipped the side arm from his belt holster. He straightened, holding the weapon out to Linia. "You'll need this."

"Well, you didn't have to kill him," Tilyer protested weakly.

Linia balked at the weapon proffered to her. Del'Goren tossed it to her anyway, turning to scowl back at Tilyer.

"Setting everything on stun isn't going to get the job done this time. If you want out of here, you're going to have to man up and do some things you don't want to do. It's that simple. You either pull the trigger, or I leave your ass here alone to deal with Venka and the rest of his goons. You hear me?"

Tilyer nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good." He turned to go, but Linia stopped him.

"Commander Venka has to know what you're up to," she protested. "Even if we can get to an escape pod, they'll just use the tractor beam to reel us back in. How do you expect to get off the ship?"

"With this." Del'Goren took the last item out of his pack, a slim gray device with a pair of buttons on one face.

Tilyer furrowed his brow. "What is it?"

Del'Goren just gave them a grim smile and pressed the button.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Sir, there's been some type of disturbance in the brig."

Commander Venka looked down to the crewmember who had addressed him. "What happened?"

"Someone set off the silent alarm. It was shut off a few seconds later, but I haven't been able to raise the security officer on duty. I think it might have something to do with the fire in the hangar, but I can't be sure."

"Damn," he swore. "Okay, continue with the hangar depressurization and dispatch a squad to investigate the brig. Recall the rest of the stormtroopers to the bridge."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. I want all available security relocated to the bridge."

The crewman nodded and turned back to his station to execute the orders.

Venka folded his arms across his chest and faced back toward the bridge viewport.

The hangar fire and the brig alarm couldn't be isolated events. That much he was sure of. He could have brushed them off as coincidence, but he hadn't gotten this far into his career by not listening to his instincts. If he had to bet, Raan had something to do with it, but how he could orchestrate anything out of that cell of his was a mystery to him. Either way, Venka wasn't going to take any chances.

A sudden rumbling cut off any more musings. Venka opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on when the ship shuddered and then erupted into violent tremors. The floor beneath him trembled like a seizuring mental patient, and the ship began to list toward the port side. Venka pitched forward as he lost his balance and hit the deck hard. The glow panels above winked out of existence only to be replaced a second later by red emergency lights, bathing the bridge in a grisly crimson glow.

He lay on the floor a moment, looking around in dazed stupefaction. One of bridge consoles sparked briefly, illuminating the motionless form sprawled on the ground before it. An acrid smell permeated the room, as did a chorus of groans from the surviving bridge crew.

"Damn it, what happened?" Venka shouted as he began to pick himself up off the floor.

One of the crewmen hauled himself back into his seat, hurriedly tapping out commands at his computer. "Shit," he swore, his fear getting the better of protocol.

"What is it?" Venka asked, making his way over to him.

"The hangar is gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's gone sir! It's not there anymore. Something must have touched off the fuel reserves, because the explosion totally demolished it. If we hadn't depressurized the bay when we did, the whole ship would have gone up." He paused, punching a few more keys. "We're slowly venting atmosphere, and our orbit around Belsavis is beginning to decaying. Artificial gravity on decks five and six is about shot too."

"Propulsion?"

"The hyperdrive seems to be alright, but sublight is at fifteen percent. It won't be enough to break orbit, and we can't jump to light speed this close to the planet. It would tear the ship apart." The crewman looked to Venka gravely. "We're going down, sir."

* * *

Tilyer loosened his grasp on the security console as the tremors subsided. He looked to Lieutenant Del'Goren with a bewildered look as the red emergency lighting kicked in. "What the hell did you just do?"

Del'Goren shrugged, "I left a little surprise back in the hangar."

"Could have at least told us to hold onto something," Linia quipped as she picked herself up off the floor.

Del'Goren ignored her. "Lets get moving. Venka should have enough to worry about with the ship, but we still need get out of here before someone comes looking for us." He turned and headed out the door and down the hallway.

Tilyer and Linia moved to follow but stopped as the turbolift at the end of the corridor slid open.

"Get back!" Del'Goren shouted as he turned and fled back down the hallway.

Tilyer briefly wondered what was going on before he caught sight of the four white armored figures standing within the lift. He grabbed Linia's arm, jerking her back toward the brig foyer as blaster fire erupted through the hallway. Linia and Tilyer managed to get behind the security console as Del'Goren dove through the doorway and rolled to the side. The stormtroopers' armored footfalls could be heard pounding down the hallway.

Tilyer grimaced and rose over the console, braving the barrage of laser fire to snap off a pair of shots into the hallway at the approaching troopers. Luckily for him, the close confines didn't offer them much room to maneuver, and one of his shots hit home. The blaster splashed over the lead trooper's breast plate, leaving a black scorch mark as the soldier collapsed to the ground. The man behind him crouched protectively over his fellow trooper and returned fire, forcing Tilyer back down behind the security station.

"You got any more of those detonators?" Linia called out, leaning around the console to snap off a quit shot before retreating back.

"Keep them busy," Del'Goren shouted, digging into one of the pockets on his uniform.

Tilyer and Linia exchanged doubtful looks, but dutifully raised up over the console and triggered a salvo of blaster fire into the hallway. It wasn't terribly accurate, but the barrage caught the advancing troopers by surprise, forcing them to retreat back toward the turbolift and the relative cover it provided. Even as Tilyer and Linia ducked down again, Del'Goren was moving. He leaned around the corner and threw a black sphere down the hallway. The object bounced and skittered along the floor and into the turbolift. The lieutenant retreated back, covering his eyes with one arm. Then the grenade went off with a muffled bang, not nearly the result Tilyer had been expecting. As he chanced a peek into the corridor, he could stormtroopers reeling, hands pressed against their eyes.

Del'Goren wasted no time. He was up on his feet and down the hallway in a matter of seconds, mercilessly pumping fire into the turbolift car. By the time Tilyer and Linia caught up with him, all four troopers lay unmoving on the deck. Del'Goren knelt by one of the bodies, rifling through the dead man's utility belt.

Tilyer slowly walked up to him with mouth agape, hardly knowing what to say.

The dark-skinned pilot looked up at the two of them as they approached. "Get a blaster rifle—both of you. You'll need the extra firepower. You're going to be on your own from here on out."

Tilyer frowned, "You're not coming with us?"

"No," he said simply.

"But what about you?" Tilyer protested, "We can't just leave you here."

"I'll find my own way out. You two just get yourselves to an escape pod." Del'Goren stood, hefting a blaster rifle to his shoulder. "I've got a score to settle."

* * *

"Sir!"

Commander Venka turned away from the storm troopers he assembled stormtroopers and looked to the crewman who had addressed him. "What?"

"Sir, the squad you dispatched has made contact with the prisoners."

"And?"

The crewman paused, listening intently to his commlink. "I don't know, sir. I've lost contact with them."

Venka swore under his breath.

"Sir," another crewman interjected, "Our orbit is starting to decay faster. We have just under and hour before the ship begins to penetrate the planet's upper atmosphere. If we wait much longer to evacuate, there isn't going to be another chance."

Venka paused indecisively. "Fine," he finally growled, "Issue the order." He gestured to the assembled troopers, "All of you, follow me."

"Where are you going, Sir?" the bridge crewman asked.

Venka checked the charge on his blaster pistol and shoved it back into the holster. "I'm going to find Raan and Taulin. I'm not leaving this ship until I know for sure they are dead."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Tilyer peered out of the turbolift car into the nearly deserted corridor beyond. Red emergency lights pulsated epileptically overhead and an automated female voice repeated instructions to abandon ship. A pair of crewmen fled down the hallway, hardly even giving him a second look in their mad flight for the escape pods.

"Okay, it's clear," he said, motioning Linia out after him.

She grimaced, her breath coming in beleaguered pants, "It's getting harder to breathe in here."

"Yeah, I know. We must be venting atmosphere somewhere. Let's hurry up and get out of here." He hefted his blaster and moved out into the hallway, looking around once more before cautiously trotting down the passage toward where he knew a bank of escape pods was located.

They continued on down the corridor, casting furtive glances down side passages as they went, but the ship seemed to be deserted.

"What do you think Lieutenant Del'Goren was talking about?" Linia asked as they went.

"I don't know," Tilyer said breathlessly, "but if I had to guess, it has something to do with Commander Venka. I can't say for sure."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just something he said after one of our missions. I don't really know the details of it, and to tell you the truth I don't think I want to. I just want to get the hell out of here. Speaking of which, look."

Linia smiled with relief, looking ahead to where the hallway emptied out before an array of escape pod hatches. When they drew closer, however, that smile quickly faded. Each and every one of the escape pods had already been jettisoned.

"Damn," Tilyer hissed, looking around in frustration.

"What are we going to do?"

"The only other bank of escape pods on this deck is located on the other side of the ship. We're going to have to start back-tracking."

"I don't know if I'll be able to make it," Linia wheezed.

Tilyer ignored her comment. Instead he motioned for her to follow as he headed back toward the main corridor. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?" Linia asked

He was silent, peering down toward the curve in the hallway.

"I thought I heard something." He paused, listening intently.

At that moment a trio of stormtroopers rounded the corner at a jog. They paused momentarily, lifting their rifles to their shoulders to open fire. The hallway erupted with a hail of blaster bolts as Tilyer roughly shoved Linia toward a side passage, barreling after her with iridescent laser fire nipping at his heels.

"How'd they find us?" Linia gasped.

"I don't know. Just go!"

Tilyer paused a moment to lean around the corner and trigger a pair of shots back at the approaching troopers. One of the blasts caught the lead trooper in the leg just below the pelvis. He sagged against the wall for support, but his wounded member gave out, and he toppled to the floor with a clatter. Tilyer didn't wait to see if the others slowed up. He whipped back around the corner and took off after Linia.

He caught up to her soon enough and motioned her down through another hallway.

"What are we going to do?" she gasped.

"We gotta keep moving and make our way to the other side of the ship."

"How do we even know there are any pods left at all?" she protested.

"Don't worry about it, just keep moving!"

They headed off, rounding another corner. Linia sprinted down the hallway as Tilyer paused, turning back to unleash a volley of fire as their pursuers came into view. The hastily aimed shots missed, but it forced the stormtroopers to seek cover in a side passage as blaster bolts tore through the area they had just occupied. Tilyer didn't wait for them to reemerge and took off down the hallway after Linia.

After a brief flight the corridor dead-ended into a T-intersection, but he could find no sign of Linia. He looked both ways, desperately trying to decide which direction to go. Suddenly blaster fire splashed off the bulkhead to the right, throwing up a cloud of pinkish smoke as Linia came tearing out from a side hallway, multiple bolts coruscating behind her.

"Go!" she shouted breathlessly, running toward Tilyer full-tilt.

Tilyer turned to run back the other way just as three stormtroopers appeared from out of the side passage behind Linia. Almost simultaneously the two troopers who had been pursuing them previously appeared down the hall from where he had just emerged. Tilyer put on a desperate burst of speed and headed in the only direction he could, dodging into another passage, this one considerably larger than the last. As he skidded to a stop, he realized where he was—the promenade, the main corridor that ran down the spine of the ship.

Linia appeared behind him a moment later, chest heaving with exertion. She roughly shoved him into motion again, and the two of them thoughtlessly took off down the hall. Any sense of direction he had previously held had been obliterated by the headlong flight through the _Enforcer's _innards. His mind raced nearly as fast as his legs, desperately trying to get his bearings and figure out which way to go next. He wasn't allowed that chance, however, as the trailing stormtroopers appeared behind them. To make matters worse, up ahead he caught sight of one of the ship's huge blast doors as it began to grind downward over the hallway. He just gritted his teeth and barreled ahead anyway.

"Keep going!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"We're not going to make it!" Linia yelled from behind.

Tilyer ignored her and kept going, striving to squeeze every ounce of speed he could from his straining muscles. When the door was barely half a meter off the ground, he kicked his legs out from under himself, sliding underneath the blast doors in a blur of descending steel. He twisted around to see Linia take a head-first dive beneath the door. The pursuing stormtroopers opened up, sending bolts of iridescent energy through the hallway, into the floor, and against the blast doors, but none of them hit the blur of olive gray that shot underneath the slab of steel. Linia slid to a stop just as the doors ground shut, drowning out the whine of discharging blasters.

Tilyer rolled over, laboriously lifting his blaster rifle to his shoulder. He rose to his feet as fast as he could and triggered a shot into the blast door controls. The computer display fizzled in a shower of sparks and then died. Tilyer pumped another blast into it for good measure, then moved over to Linia and offered her his hand.

"C'mon, we need to keep moving."

She looked up at him wheezing, her breath coming in ragged pants. For a moment she looked as if she was about to refuse, as if she wanted to say that she couldn't go on anymore, but she just nodded and took his hand.

"How . . . did they know . . . where to find us?" she gasped, trying to catch her breath as Tilyer hauled her up.

"Someone has to be plugged into the security system. They must be communicating over commlinks."

"You think it's Commander Venka?"

"You can bet on it. Come on, we need to get out of here. That door isn't going to hold them for long."

He started to head off down the hallway, but Linia stopped him.

"Do you know how to get to the escape pods from here?"

"We'll work our way around," he reassured her.

"We can't keep running blind like this," she protested. "They'll box us in sooner or later."

"And we can't just sit here either. We've got to keep moving!" Behind them the blast door shuddered. "They'll be through any minute, come on!"

Linia's next statement died on her lips as he grabbed her arm and pulled her after him and down the corridor.

Tilyer barreled down the hallway, frantically searching for a route that would get them closer to the escape pods on the other side of the ship. His lungs were on fire and his legs had turned to jelly, but still he kept up the headlong pace. A few seconds later he reached the passage he had been looking for, but another sight made him stop in his tracks.

Ahead of them barely ten meters down the hallway stood Commander Venka flanked on either side by a quartet of stormtroopers. His face twisted into a vicious sneer as he leveled his pistol at the two of them. "The game's up," he growled. "Now it's time for you to die."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

If Venka was going to say anything else, Tilyer didn't give him a chance. He shoved Linia into the side passage just as a storm of blaster fire erupted through the hallway. He barreled after her as blaster bolts scorched and pinged off of the walls around him. Then they were out of sight, once again racing down the hallway with no sense of direction.

"After them!" Venka shouted.

Tilyer didn't look back. He could tell by the sound of booted feet upon the deck that the troopers were in hot pursuit. He grabbed Linia and pulled her to the nearest cross passage before the troopers had a chance to fire again, and then they were off. Moments later, he was about to take another corner when a call from Linia stopped him.

"Wait!"

He turned to see her bent over a computer console mounted in one of the walls.

"Just cover me!" she shouted.

Tilyer growled something unintelligibly and switched directions, trotting past her toward the hallway intersection. He hefted his blaster to his shoulder and chanced a glance around the corner. He briefly caught sight of the white-armored figures down the hall before a flurry of blaster bolts splashed over the bulkhead beside him.

"Damn!" He cursed, pulling back from the corner. "They're right on our ass," he called to Linia. "We gotta go!"

"Hold them off just a minute longer!"

"We don't have a minute!"

Nonetheless, he whipped around corner again, unleashing a trio of shots at the oncoming troopers. One bolt caught the lead trooper just below the chin, searing into the unprotected seam between chest plate and helmet. The eyes of his helmet flashed red for a brief instant, and he collapsed to the floor with a clatter like so much dead weight. The other men returned fire, but Tilyer had already pulled back. Still, the death of their comrade had given them pause, and they began to pull back slightly, moving to what cover they could find in the hallway. He leaned out to unleash another volley of fire, but the shots just impacted harmlessly along the bulkhead.

"Are you done yet?" he shouted back to Linia.

"Almost there."

"Damn it," he swore, tilting outward to trigger another ineffectual blast at the stormtroopers down the hall. They returned fire, but none of the three seemed inclined to advance down the hall again.

And then Tilyer found out why.

A torrent of bolts tore through the air above his head, blasting the walls and spraying his face with hot bits of molten steel. He blinked through the stinging haze just long enough to glimpse the squad of troopers advancing from the other end of the intersecting hallway. He shrunk back, trading shots with the new arrivals as the squad he had pinned down before darted forward.

"They worked another squad around. I can't hold them off!" he called to Linia.

"Just give me another second!"

Tilyer grunted and reached around the corner, blindly pumping the trigger at the advancing troopers. The blaster popped and whined anemically before a renewed volley of fire forced Tilyer back.

He checked the power charge on the weapon. It was dangerously low. "I'm almost out of juice over here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Okay, I got it!" Linia announced. "Follow me. Lets go!"

Tilyer didn't need to be told twice. He ran after Linia as she dashed down the hallway, pausing a moment to select another passage, and then darting off once more.

"Where are we going?" he wheezed as they ran.

"Escape pod bank," she breathed, "the computer says there are two pods left."

"How far?"

She didn't have a chance to respond as blaster bolts tore through the air around them. Linia reached a bend in the passage, turning back to unleash a barrage of covering fire as Tilyer dashed after her. He had almost turned the corner, and then an icy dagger of pain bit deep into his upper thigh. Before he even knew what was happening he hit the ground, and his senses exploded into fire.

* * *

"After them!" Venka shouted, urging his troopers after the fleeing officers. He moved to follow as the stormtroopers raced off down the hallway, but stopped with a sudden premonition. He spun around, shoving his blaster toward the black-clad figure standing further down the passage. His finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn't fire.

"Show yourself!"

The figure moved closer, red emergency lights gleaming off of his bald head.

Venka furrowed his brow in confusion and then relaxed in realization. "Lieutenant Del'Goren!" He gave a relieved sigh and holstered the pistol. "Thank Goodness. You scared me. I thought everyone else would have been off of the ship by now."

Del'Goren shook his head, "There is still business to attend to here."

Venka nodded. "Yes, Raan and Taulin. We have to cut them off before they reach the escape pods. We could use your help."

"No."

Venka frowned. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"That's not what I'm here for."

Del'Goren stepped closer. Then in one smooth motion, he drew the blaster from his belt and leveled it at Venka's face.

The commander's eyes widened in shock. He started to go for his own side arm, but the steely look in Del'Goren's eyes gave him pause. He wouldn't be able to so much as touch his own firearm before the lieutenant's blaster bolt found him.

"You're in league with them," he spat instead, trying to stall for time. "You're in league with those traitors."

Del'Goren's glower deepened. "You want to talk about treason? You of all people? You bastard, you murdered Captain Ygra."

That comment caught Venka off-guard, but he quickly snarled back"I did only what was necessary."

"Necessary to get you promoted, you sniveling sack of slime," Del'Goren growled.

"Ygra would have had us all killed in his blind quest for glory. His incompetence slew more of his own men than the enemy. He was an old fool whose time had passed."

"Don't give me that line. It might have worked on Dusat, but it sure as hell won't work on me. The Captain was a good man and an Imperial officer. He deserved better. Better than _you_ deserve for damn sure—better than you'll get. I'm here to make sure of that."

Del'Goren made a gesture with his blaster, and Venka took his chance. He surged forward, both hands grabbing for the weapon. Even as he wrapped his hands around that pistol, Del'Goren smashed his knee into Venka's crotch. The commander doubled over. His hands immediately forgot the gun and flew to his groin. Before they could reach it, Del'Goren slammed the butt of his blaster into the bridge of his nose. Venka's vision exploded with stars as he reeled backward, collapsing on the deck.

He started to mumble something through the blood burbling from his nose and down his chin, but a shake of Del'Goren's head made him stop.

"Save it. I don't care what you have to say. You're dead."

The blaster whined, and Commander Venka sank back against the deck, a charred blaster wound smoldering between his eyes.

* * *

"Can you walk?"

Tilyer moaned, trying to make sense of her words over a cacophony of discharging blasters.

He craned his neck back, watching as Linia knelt by his side and hooked an arm underneath his shoulders. "Come on, get up!"

He groaned. His legs felt like jelly.

"Get up damn you!"

Tilyer grunted, his rubbery legs kicking feebly as they tried to find purchase upon the floor. Linia discharged her blaster down the hallway as she pulled him around the corner. With her help, Tilyer managed to stagger to his feet, finally standing to lean unsteadily against the bulkhead. His head swam, and he could feel the cooked wound throbbing and pulsing. He staggered backward with Linia's help, looking around for where he had dropped his blaster.

Linia seemed to anticipate his next statement. "Leave it. The escape pods are just ahead. Go, I'll hold them off!"

Tilyer nodded and started to limp down the hallway. White hot flashes of pain knifed through his senses with each step, but he kept going, stumbling toward the bank of escape pods looming ahead.

The corridor widened out, opening into the pod foyer where two other passages emptied out into the foyer from either side of him. Half a dozen hatches studded the wall across from him, the lights on two of which indicated the pods were still attached.

Tilyer breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening and headed toward them as fast as he could. He hobbled past the mouth of one of the side passages just as another figure came tearing through the hallway. Tilyer stopped, perched precariously on his wounded leg as he came face to face with Gabel Thahlwin.

For a moment both simply stared at each other, unsure of what to do. Both thought the other would have been off the ship now. They studied each other in stunned silence. Then Gable lunged. Tilyer shifted his weight, planning to hip toss the larger man into the bulkhead behind him, but his injured leg faltered. He crumpled like a tin can as Gabel's shoulder crashed into him. He reeled backward beneath the larger man's weight, striking the wall behind him with a dull thud.

Gabel took a step toward him, but never got farther than that. A wave of blue energy coursed over him, lighting every nerve on fire as his body jerked spasmodically like an epileptic marionette. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

Tilyer twisted around to see Linia standing just behind him, blaster clutched in her hands. He started to offer a word of thanks, but a flurry of blaster bolts splashed off the floor around her. She spun back toward the bend in the hallway and unleashed a hail of blaster bolts in the other direction.

"Get him into the pod!" she shouted over the din.

Tilyer looked over to where Gabel lay motionless on the floor. He momentarily thought of refusing. For a moment, he contemplated leaving him there to perish along with the _Enforcer_ as the ship crashed into Belsavis. He actually considered leaving him there to die. And for one tedious second, Tilyer thought he might have deserved it.

But no matter how Gabel had betrayed them, Tilyer couldn't just leave him to die.

He picked himself up off the floor and hooked his arms under Gabel's shoulders. He grunted, heaving with all of his might as he began to drag the unconscious crewman toward one of the remaining escape pods.

Gabel was heavier than he looked, but Tilyer managed to lug his dead weight to the pod hatch. He hit the door release with his elbow and hauled Gabel into the cramped compartment beyond. The unconscious man flopped to the ground, and Tilyer turned back toward the hatch.

"Come on, let's go!"

Linia threw him a glance over her shoulder. She triggered a pair of shots down the hall before she turned and ran. Tilyer's heart pounded in his chest as he reached out a hand, beckoning her forward. She was barely five meters from the pod when a pair of stormtroopers charged out from the hallway. They paused, lifting their rifles to their shoulders. And then the foyer erupted in a hail of crimson. Blaster fire flashed by Linia's fleeing form, scorching the walls and ricocheting off the bulkhead. Then Linia lunged.

Her eyes held a look of desperation, that adrenaline-fed guise of someone who knew her life was riding on one precarious moment. But then her eyes changed, widening with a shock that the rest of her face couldn't mirror. Tilyer reached out with both hands as she stumbled forward, collapsing into his arms as he tumbled back against the deck.

Tilyer lashed out with his foot. His heel connected with door release, and the hatched hissed shut. There was a split second pause, and then the rockets flared, flinging the capsule out into the cold reaches of space. Tilyer lay back, his whole body shaking with relief.

And then he laughed.

He couldn't think of anything else to do. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest, and he couldn't think of any other way to express the feelings surging within his breast. For a long moment he simply lay there laughing, watching the stars spin outside the viewport with intoxicated joy.

But then he realized something. He was the only one laughing. Slowly he looked up. Linia's head lay motionless on his chest. Several strands of hair had come loose, dangling over her face like limp feathers. Her face was white, and her eye had lost that spark, staring sightlessly over his shoulder.

A cold terror gripped him. He wrapped his arms around her back, trying to haul her up. "Linia! Linia, stay with me!"

Then he felt it—a warm, sticky substance smearing the back of her uniform. The open gash beneath his hand did not pulse the hot fervor of wounded flesh. It was deathly still. He didn't need to see it to know what it was, or what had happened.

He let her body sag down against him. His former mirth was gone. Now he just felt hollow inside. He lay back on the deck and watched the stars spin, feeling her dead weight press against his chest.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The flat-nosed imperial officer stared down from his perch upon the bench. The admiral was flanked on either side by a pair of officers of slightly lesser rank, but all wore the same stern expression. Standing before them in the middle of the towering Grand Imperial Hall, Lieutenant Del'Goren suddenly felt very small.

The admiral glared down at the dark-skinned pilot. "Now then, Lieutenant, if you would be so kind as to give the court your rendition of the events that took place on the _Enforcer_."

Del'Goren met and held the officer's gaze. "As I said in my written statement, a malfunction occurred while the technicians were enacting repairs upon one of the TIE fighters. The resulting explosion touched off the ship's fuel reserves and crippled her. Her orbit deteriorated until she crashed into the planet's surface."

One of the other tribunal officers nodded, "Yes, we have heard other crewmen testify to that fact. We are more interested in hearing what events took place after the general order to abandon ship."

"Sir?"

He consulted a datapad. "Data from your escape pod shows that it was launched at 0234 standard hours, a full fifteen minutes after the general order was issued, as described by the rest of the survivors. Why the delay?"

"Did the other crewman inform you of the incident with Flight Officer Raan and Ensign Taulin?"

The admiral nodded, "Yes, we know of the attempted mutiny."

"From what I gleaned from Commander Venka, the guard in the brig was attempting to move them from their cell to an escape pod when they overpowered him and tried to escape. Commander Venka took command of the stormtrooper detachment on board and went to hunt them down. He requested my assistance."

"If you were hunting down the fugitives along with Commander Venka, why is it that you are here and he is not?"

"The _Enforcer _was rapidly descending. Commander Venka saw no need in me staying aboard when he had several stormtroopers at his disposal. He ordered me to abandon ship shortly after Raan and Taulin made it apparent they weren't going to be taken easily."

"Do you believe they had anything to do with the explosion onboard?"

Del'Goren shook his head. "I don't see how, sir. They were in their cells the whole time. They had no access to the fighter bay. Commander Venka went after them because he wanted to ensure they did not somehow escape his custody—not because he thought they actually caused the explosion."

"It sounds as if Commander Venka was an exemplary officer."

Del'Goren swallowed the distaste in his mouth. "Yes sir. Unfortunately, sir, it appears that wasn't enough. After I jettisoned my escape pod, I did not see any other pods launch before the _Enforcer_ hit the planet's surface. Most of it burned up in the atmosphere on its way down. I doubt anyone could have survived."

The tribunal members nodded. "From what we have seen, we have to concur in this matter. Thus, we have no choice but to rule the demise of the _Enforcer_ and its crew an accident."

With an air of finality, the admiral rapped his gavel on the desk.

Del'Goren gave a soft sigh as he watched the officers file out of the room. He stood there as the sound of shuffling feet receded from the hall, leaving him alone in the cavernous chamber. He craned his neck upward, studying the intricately carved curves of the ceiling. His thoughts went back to the first time he had seen him, that stoic youth that had been so filled with nationalistic pride. He smiled.

"Raan," he said softly, "Where ever you are, I hope it was worth it."

* * *

An icy wind whipped and howled over Belsavis' ice plains, swirling through channels and furrows like a pack of wolves bounding along the landscape. Tilyer Raan stood with his arms folded, bundled tightly against the cold as he stoically looked down at the frozen wreck that had once been his TIE fighter. The mass of mangled metal creaked as the salvage sled's grapple arm latched on, straining to extricate the wreckage from the frozen earth.

"What do you plan to do with it?"

He looked to his right where Tana Yin'Baara stood by his side, watching the scene below.

When he didn't reply immediately, she turned her face up to him, eyes squinting against the wind and face flushed from the cold. "Hey, you listening?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly. "I'm just not quite sure." He sighed, "I guess I could try to rebuild it, but I doubt it would look anything like it should, or if it would even fly again, for that matter."

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "So why come all the way out here?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. It just felt like what I was supposed to do, I guess. I actually thought about naming it." He laughed at some private joke.

"What are you going to call it?"

He shrugged, "_Vigilance_ has a nice ring to it."

Tana nodded, pretending to understand the significance. A short silence stretched out between them before she spoke again.

"So what about Gabel?"

"What about him?"

"He still seems pretty mad at you."

Tilyer looked over to where Gabel sat in the cab of the hover sled staring resolutely forward.

"He'll get over it. He knows I didn't have to do what I did for him up there. That's what's eating him—knowing who he owes his life to. Anyway, I've already forgiven him. There's no use in holding grudges anymore, not after what we've been through. He'll realize the same thing. Just give him time.

Tana shook her head. "I still don't understand what went on up there."

"It's complicated," Tilyer replied noncommittally.

Again silence reigned before Tana interceded.

"So are you going to stay here for a while?" She grinned sheepishly, "After what you did for us, even Oltan couldn't say no."

He gave her a sad smile. "I don't think I would make a very good farmer."

"You're probably right," she said, returning the smile. "But what else would you do? Go home?"

He shook his head. "I can't go back home. If word gets out that I'm alive, the first people to suffer will be my family. I can't let that happen to them."

"Well what about joining the rebels?"

"The Rebels aren't any better than the Empire."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like I said before, it's complicated."

"So explain it to me."

He sighed. "They're both out for their own interests. They try to come off as great philanthropists who want to change the galaxy for the better, but they're all just looking out for number one. They don't care about the people like your family, the ones who just want to be left out of the whole damn mess. I don't want to be a part of that ideology any more. People can't just flock to whatever banner is flopping in the wind at the moment and expect things to turn out right. That's how the Empire started. A man has to find his own way through the universe, or else he'll become a slave to someone else's ideals. If I've learned anything from all of this, it's that in this galaxy, there is no true black and white. It's all just a bunch of gray."

Tana was silent, mulling over those words. She looked up at him again, but he silently watched as the salvage sled continued its work. She opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped. Instead, she slipped an arm around his shoulders and watched as the crane lifted the mangled fighter into the air, reviving it from its icy tomb to be reborn anew.


End file.
